


Hello Goodbye

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: Rating: PG-13Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.Summary: Spike died five years ago during the battle in L.A., and Dawn gives Buffy a book to read. S/B. Set five years post-“Not Fade Away” with no comic book influence. This is way AU but not human AU…you’ll see.This fic is based on a challenge set forth on Elysian Fields by Safire called the Big Goodbye.A few slight changes were made to the challenge to make it more realistic and so I could write it without extensive research. Dawn is not an upper level Watcher (she’s only 23 in the fic), Buffy is 28, and the setting is changed to a place that I’ve actually lived (which helps with the research part). And oops, on re-reading the challenge, I made Buffy initially more sad than angry. She’s a little angry but not pissed, mostly because it’s been five years.Added an epilogue in honor of the 20 year anniversary of BtVS. 3-11-17A/N: The beautiful banner is by javajunkie247...thank you! You really captured the essence of the story! heartheartheart





	1. Chapter One

You say yes, I say no  
You say stop and I say go go go, oh no  
You say goodbye and I say hello  
Hello hello  
I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello  
Hello hello  
I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello  
-from “Hello Goodbye” by Paul McCartney

 

“The answer to everything is simple. It’s a song about everything and nothing. If you have black you have to have white. That’s the amazing thing about life.”  
-Paul McCarney, explaining the lyrics of “Hello Goodbye”

 

* * *

 

Her chin in her hand, Buffy sighs as she leans over the large, antiquated volume, trying in vain to research a prophecy that supposedly has some bearing on why she and Dawn are in Houston on their vacation. The big sprawling city is not where she imagined spending her her holiday. There’s no beach. . . well, not a nice one anyway. . . and no fruity cocktails or massages with pretty cabana boys.

 

She sighs again. Stupid vampire gangs with their stupid attempts at doing dumb things like trying to infiltrate NASA and the oil industry.

 

She also doesn’t understand why Giles insists on everyone carrying around such heavy books when he could have them all scanned in and saved on the computer. Then, she could tote them around in her pocket on a flash drive instead of lugging an extra suitcase just for books. She thinks maybe his reluctance is leftover from the days when they tried to scan the books in his mystical library, and Moloch took over the computer network. Even Willow tried to convince him, but he remains stubbornly immovable. 

 

Glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time, Buffy notices that it’s 2 P.M. Where is Dawn? She is supposed to be bringing them lunch and other snack foods for the research.

 

This morning, Dawn headed out to the local university coffee shop with a stack of trade paperbacks and a few hardbacks to peruse while she drank mochas. She was excited about the internship she started in January with the new, less corrupt Watcher’s Council, but she was less than thrilled about the grunt work. Part of said grunt work involved reading books and other published material that could potentially be tied to the supernatural and then deciding whether the author was in danger of revealing too much to the ignorant public or was, in fact, a demon with nefarious motives toward mankind.

 

Buffy’s stomach growls in frustration. She and Dawn were staying in one of those bare extended stay rooms with a mini-kitchen and a full sized refrigerator. Despite knowing that the there’s nothing in the hotel fridge, Buffy gets up to peer into the empty cold cavern anyway.

 

She sighs a third time, lets the door swing shut, and grabs her light leather jacket and keys. She can’t bear to look at Giles’s book any longer and decides to head out for some fast food.

 

Smiling at her decision, she swings open the door to the dingy hotel room and almost runs smack into her little sister.

 

Long dark hair swinging around her shoulders, Dawn is harried and pushes past Buffy into their gloomy refuge. One of her books falls to the floor, but she doesn’t bother to pick it up.

 

Buffy bends over and rescues the book. “What’s wrong?”

 

Dawn dumps her arm load onto the bed, grabs one of the hardback books, and whirls to face her sister, holding up the volume. “This, this is what’s wrong!” Tears fill her eyes.

 

Alarmed, Buffy takes the book from Dawn’s trembling hand and reads the title. “‘Chosen’ by William Abbott. What’s wrong with it? Do you need to call the Council?” She’s actually excited about this prospect. Calling Giles at the Council is way better and less boring than researching prophecies, and she never thought she’d think that about the Council.

 

Dawn shakes her head. “I-I’m not sure.”

 

“Then what?” Buffy studies the innocuous looking book cover. A dark cavern with a glowing light pouring out is the only illustration.

 

“You should read it.” Dawn’s blue eyes are bright and insistent. “It just came out on Tuesday.”

 

“Why this one?”

 

“Well, I read all the other books by this author, and nothing stuck out as all that strange, but this one. . . this one is. . . Buffy, I think that Spike wrote it.” Dawn reaches over and opens the book in Buffy’s hands so that the part of the cover with the summary is face up.

 

“W-what? But Spike’s de. . . gone. It’s been five years.” Buffy still can’t bring herself to say that he died in that final battle in L.A. before Angel and company moved to England. She skims the synapsis. “Wait a minute. This is. . .”

 

“Exactly what happened in the last year in Sunnydale except he changed the names of relevant people and places.”

 

In shock, Buffy stands stock still as Dawn rushes over to the nightstand and picks up her laptop. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she flips up the screen and opens the browser, typing in a website address. She spins the computer around on her lap to reveal an author’s website. “There was no author picture in the book, so I looked him up on my phone.”

 

Feeling numb, Buffy joins her sister on the bed and stares at the screen as Dawn clicks on the about-the-author page. The hotel’s wireless service is fast, and the page loads with ease, revealing a photo of a man who looks exactly like the vampire they both knew in Sunnydale. He has the same sharp cheekbones, same impudent smile, and same brilliant blue eyes full of emotion. The only difference is that his hair isn’t bleached blonde, and he has more color to his cheeks than Buffy can have ever imagined.

 

Buffy touches the screen as if she can somehow feel him over the internet. “I-it’s him.”

 

“Only he’s human, and his name is William Abbott,” Dawn points out. “And he lives in New York. He’s a writer. He’s written like seven other books that I read, but ‘Chosen’ was the only one that was so real.”

 

Buffy blinks back tears. “How do you know he’s human and not some clone or some shape shifting demon or a doppelganger?”

 

Dawn shrugs. “I don’t. I mean, I could probably find out, but I didn’t want to call the Council yet, you know? Because what if it’s him and he’s in trouble? I thought you could read the book first, and then, we could decide. . . or you could help me decide.”

 

Trying to set aside her emotions, Buffy agrees, “Good idea.” She briefly closes the book and scoots back on the bed, hunger forgotten. Curling up with her pillow propped behind her head, she opens to the first page.

 

Dawn settles back next to her with her laptop, intent on doing a more thorough Google search on William Abbott. But first, she grabs the hotel phone because she wants to order room service.

 

* * *

 

Even while eating a meal and later a snack, Buffy reads continuously until she finishes the novel at about three in the morning. A few tears slide down her cheeks as she reaches the end. Closing the book and trying not to wake up her sleeping sister, she slips off the bed she’s sharing with Dawn. Padding across the carpet, she quietly shuts the bathroom door behind her and climbs into the empty bathtub, bringing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.

 

Once in place, she finally allows herself to feel. Her whole body shakes with the sobs that she tried so hard to contain. Hot tears scald her cheeks and roll down her neck, soaking her blouse as she lets out all the emotion that she felt while reading the book but was too afraid to express in front of Dawn.

 

After all that remains of her tears are small hiccups and her nose has ceased running, she feels strong enough to lower her legs, and her frontal lobe starts to come back online.

 

How had William Abbott known all those details about what happened in Sunnydale from the First Evil conspiring to let loose the Turok-Han to Xander losing his eye to Willow converting all the potential Slayers into real ones to Spike saving the world? How?

 

And if, and that is a big if, William Abbott is Spike, why would he write this story. . . their story for the world the see? If William Abbott is Spike, she’s going to give him a piece of her mind! He’s endangering the entire world by so cavalierly publishing the truth. . . their truth.

 

With sudden determination, Buffy pulls herself up, rubs away the remaining tears, and looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyes and nose are puffy, and her tears dragged dark trails of mascara down her cheeks, but she grabs a washcloth and turns on the water. She quickly and efficiently washes her face and applies fresh makeup, brushes her teeth, and braids her long blonde hair. Throwing all her toiletries in her makeup bag, she tiptoes into the room she’s sharing with Dawn.

 

Buffy gazes at her slumbering sister who somehow keeps dreaming despite the apocalypse of emotions that just occurred in the bathroom. She loves her sister so much. If somehow this book hurts Dawn in any way, well, there will be hell to pay, and the payee will be this William character. Buffy reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her sister’s ear, but at the last moment, she resists and glides the laptop off the bed.

 

Returning to the bathroom, Buffy puts down the toilet lid and sits on it, startling the laptop from sleep mode.

 

William Abbott’s website is still pulled up, and she clicks on the link she had seen earlier that read, “Upcoming Appearances.”

 

“Bingo,” she whispers.

 

She opens a new window and goes to the Southwest Airlines home page. Within fifteen minutes, she purchases a plane ticket and books a last minute place to stay.

 

Since they just arrived in Houston, she hasn’t unpacked her bag, which is fortuitous as Giles might say. With care, she tugs on her boots, slips on the jacket she earlier removed, scribbles Dawn a brief note of apology, and grabs her bags.

 

Before she can reconsider, she is out the door and heads downstairs to call a cab to take her to Hobby Airport.

 

William Abbott is having a book signing as part of a tour for his new bestseller, and Buffy Summers is going to New Orleans to be there for it.

 

* * *

 

On the way to the airport, the cab driver is quiet and focused, beating his thumb on the steering wheel to a quiet song on the radio and sipping soda out of a large MacDonald’s cup.

 

Alone without being alone in the back seat, Buffy finally slows down enough to think. Dipping her hand in her purse, she retrieves her cell phone and pulls up the message app.

 

Biting her lip and tugging her braid over her left shoulder, she texts Giles to let him know she is leaving Houston and that he should contact the local Houston Slayers to help Dawn.

 

Her finger over the send button, she hesitates and doesn’t send the communication.

 

Instead, she switches over and dials Angel’s number. She holds her breath, waiting for the familiar voice to answer. It is around four fifteen in the morning here, so the time there is. . . a little after nine AM.

 

She’s surprised when he doesn’t answer. No matter the time of day or night, Angel always answers her calls. Something important must be going on.

 

His voicemail comes on, and she is kind of glad that she has to settle for his mechanical, impersonal message because if she hears his voice even electronically, she isn’t sure she can hold back her emotions again.

 

When the beep resounds, she takes a deep breath and tries to keep a neutral tone, “Hey. It’s Buffy. I have a couple of questions for you. . . about something I discovered, and I thought, well, maybe, you might have answers. Call me.”

 

Satisfied, she hangs up before she turns into babbling Buffy, and then, she sends the text to Giles before turning off her phone.

 

Now nothing and no one can stop her.

 

Suddenly exhausted, she closes her eyes and leans her head onto the window of the cab, focusing on the steady motion of the vehicle over the road and trusting that the cab driver will wake her up when they get to the airport.


	2. Chapter Two

In the harsh light of the very humid and already hot April day, Buffy feels silly as she stands on the corner of Royal St. and Pere Antoine Alley in the French Quarter with her roller bag and a small bag of groceries she picked up at the corner market where tourists and locals alike seemed to shop.

 

What is she doing in New Orleans? Why is she chasing after something that happened so long ago? Why is her grief about Spike so powerful and poignant when she’s so effectively tucked it away behind Slayer duties and the passage of time?

 

Pulling out the key to the condo she rented, Buffy passes the Rodrigue studio with the painting of the blue dog in the window and unlocks the large green door. She finds herself in a short dark hallway that opens up into a tiny courtyard with green plants, a waterless fountain, a pile of bicycles for borrowing, and a rusty table and chairs. When she glances up, she can see the clear azure sky above and small second and third floor balconies resplendent with lush potted plants. Her questions momentarily forgotten, she can’t help but smile.

 

Studying her key, Buffy is reminded that she is in condo B, so she climbs the enclosed staircase to her right and finds her way to the front door of the condo. She lets herself into the tiny space and is pleased to see a kitchen, small bedroom, and full bathroom. A fireplace lines one wall and musical instruments hang over the mantel. Large windows line the wall the includes the outside door, and indirect golden sunlight provides gentle light. The room is much smaller than the hotel room she and Dawn shared in Houston. Despite the size and the musty smell of the old building, there is something beautiful and cozy about the condo that makes Buffy feel at home. 

 

Buffy rolls her suitcase beside the queen-sized bed, leans on the mattress, and reluctantly pulls out and turns on her phone. Squinting at the screen with a feeling of dread, the phone plays a brief melody and vibrates.

 

Huh. Not bad.

 

She only has five texts and a voicemail.

 

Buffy decides to look at the texts first.

 

Giles sent three. The first reads, “Buffy! Dear lord. What do you mean I should contact the Houston Slayers? You must call me right away.” Buffy smiles. She can almost hear his proper British accent even in his texts, and she can almost picture him cleaning his glasses in frustration.

 

The second says, “Buffy, I’ve spoken with Dawn. She filled me in on the details of what’s going on and where she thinks you are. Please don’t worry. I’ve contacted Jennifer and Elizabeth. They’re going to help Dawn with the prophecy.”

 

And finally, “Do be careful, Buffy. We really don’t know what we’re dealing with. This William Abbott might not be Spike. I will be researching things on my end and will let you know what I find.”

 

The other two texts are from Dawn. “What? Why did you leave without me? You think I want to be stuck in this room researching prophecies with Liz and Jenn? You could have at least taken me with you!”

 

And then, “Buffy, I called Giles. He’s going to help us out. Be careful. I love you.”

 

The voicemail is, of course, from Angel.

 

She holds the phone with both hands as she listens to him say, “Buffy. What did you discover? Call me. I’ll be around.”

 

Before she can think too much, Buffy hits the return call button.

 

Angel picks up on the second ring. His voice indicates that he’s happy to hear from her, which is the way it usually sounds, “Hey, Buffy. Got your message. I may or may not have answers to your questions.”

 

She can’t help being direct, “Is Spike alive?”

 

Angel is silent for a moment before he responds, “What do you mean? Spike died in L.A. almost five years ago.”

 

Buffy hears the pain in his words, and she knows he lost more than one friend in that particular fight. Although she hates hurting him, this knowledge doesn’t stop her, “But he’s not dead. . . well, not undead dead. Have you ever heard of a writer by the name of William Abbott?”

 

“No.” His denial is too quick.

 

“Well, he wrote a book. It came out on Tuesday. I read it. Angel, it’s about what happened in Sunnydale. . . the last year we were all there with the First Evil and Caleb and the Turok-Han.”

 

Angel can’t lie to her. “Buffy, how do you know about William?”

 

“Dawn read his book as part of her Watcher-in-training gig. Long story. Suffice it say, she read the book. We kind of live together, so of course, she told me about it, and of course, then, I read it. It’s categorized as a fiction horror novel, but it reads like. . . it reads like reality. So, we looked him up. He looks just like Spike only without the bleach and the pale skin. Dawn and I considered that he might be a shape shifting demon taking Spike’s form, so I came down to New Orleans for his book signing to figure that out ‘cause well, it can’t be good that he wrote all that true stuff for public consumption.”

 

When she finally takes a breath, Angel steps in, “Buffy. Hold on.”

 

She never understood the expression pins and needles more than right at this moment.

 

“A lot of stuff went down in L.A. Spike did a lot of good. . . he did so much good, in fact, that the Powers that Be gave him a reward.”

 

She’s listening intently now. “What kind of reward?”

 

Angel continues, sounding a lot more tired than when he answered the phone, “He was made human. I signed away the Shanshu prophecy before the fight as a sign of good faith with the Black Thorn members. . . before we betrayed them. So, when push came to shove, the Powers granted the reward to the only other vampire with a soul.”

 

“Spike.” Buffy feels sick and sad and lonely at the same time.

 

“But the prize came with a caveat or two. He had no choice. He had to accept the offer, and all of his memories of being a vampire, of the supernatural world. . . they were erased or repressed.”

 

“Ohhh,” Buffy breathes. After a moment, she asks, “Did he even want it?”

 

Angel’s next words are gentle, “I honestly don’t know, Buffy. All I know is that he was given a chance at a normal life with a good career, financial stability, and a human girlfriend.”

 

Buffy’s stomach churns. “Oh.”

 

“So, you should probably not upset the apple cart. Let him be. He earned it.”

 

She closes her eyes, and then, her temper flares, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

 

Angel flashes back, “It wasn’t mine to tell! There was a hell of a lot going on at that time, and I’m sorry if I didn’t take the time to call you and tell you about your ex-boyfriend’s transformation.”

 

Just as quickly as the anger stirred within her, she calms. She can’t stay mad at Angel anymore. He’s right, he doesn’t owe her anything; she certainly doesn’t keep him in the loop on all things in her life. Plus, she understands what it’s like to go through something big and not be able to talk about it with anyone. “I get that. I do.”

 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” He’s always been truthful with her when it matters.

 

“You were right not to. I would have. . . well, I don’t know what I would have done.” She opens her eyes again and stares at the trumpet with the missing mouthpiece above the mantel.

 

“Leave him be. Let him be happy. At least one of us gets a chance to be human.”

 

Buffy can’t help but ask, “Is that what you would want?”

 

“Honestly, Buffy, I don’t think so. I don’t know. But it is what it is. It happened, and there’s no use brooding over it.”

 

She allows the irony to creep into her tone, “Well, that’s a first.”

 

She hears his grin on the other end of the line. “Well, yeah. Been working on it for a while now.”

 

Buffy can’t help herself, she keeps going, “What about the book?”

 

“What about it?”

 

“It’s the truth. . . the whole truth. Aren’t we supposed to do something about that?” Is reality creeping back into his life? Does he need help? She still doesn’t know why he wrote the book.

 

He’s silent, so Buffy knows that he’s thinking before he says his next words, “Maybe the Powers allowed him to write the book, so he could process the events without actually knowing that they were real. You can only repress memories for so long before they come up again.”

 

Buffy nods even though Angel can’t see her. She gets it. Maybe what he’s saying is true, but maybe Spike’s in trouble. She realizes she can’t tell Angel this.

 

When Buffy remains quiet, Angel says, “Look, Buffy, I need to go. Got something to take care of on my end.”

 

“Demon-y stuff this early in the day. . . er, late afternoon?”

 

He chuckles. “That’s the one.”

 

“Okay. Well, thank you.” She really wishes she could hug him.

 

“For what?”

 

“Telling me the truth.”

 

“You’re always welcome.”

 

As soon as she is off the phone with Angel, she sends Dawn and Giles a simple text reading, “William Abbott is Spike. More later.”

 

* * *

 

Just because Angel said Buffy shouldn’t meddle in Spike’s life doesn’t mean she can’t go to the book signing for an autograph. She can view him from a distance, make sure he’s okay, and then leave him to his life.

 

This sounds like a solid plan in Buffy’s head anyway.

 

Buffy holds the novel against her chest and stares up at Crescent City Books. A large sign with a photo of Spike’s book is posted in the window of the bookstore, and a line is already starting to form even though it’s 7 PM. The book signing is slated to start at 8:30 PM. Thank goodness he’s not going to read an excerpt because she doesn’t know if her heart can take it.

 

Buffy takes her place in line behind a young couple touching and whispering to one another. For some reason, their PDA makes her feel uncomfortable, so she buries her head in the depths of the internet, searching for anything that will help her distract from what’s about to happen. . . anything that will make the time go by faster.

 

Luck is on her side, and she’s rescued by a shoe sale at one of her favorite online stores, so she happily peruses the shoes and imagines what would happen if she bought all the pairs on her wish list. Dawn would kill her. There isn’t enough space in the closet they share now anyway, and they already have way too much footwear.

 

Soon the line stretches far behind her, and she hears a brief commotion as someone arrives in a cab. She’s pretty sure that the person who arrived is Spike, but she is too afraid to look and feels relieved that she is shorter than the couple in front of her.

 

Buffy finds it ironic that she used to kick down the door to Spike’s crypt when she wanted to talk with or pummel him, and now she’s too nervous to even see him. But it’s been five years, and although his writing brought up everything she felt for him and then some, a lot can change. . . a lot has happened in those five years. Plus, there’s the pesky little problem of his not knowing who he used to be.

 

She was so gung ho not that many hours ago, and now she’s hesitating.

 

The line starts moving forward, and there’s no way out now unless she ducks out of the row of fans and flees back to the condo to hide. 

 

Somehow, her feet move her forward.

 

When Buffy finally steps into the bookstore and inhales the distinctive scent of new books, she immediately hears his voice. . . his familiar British accent still present and his laughter. . . oh, his laughter! The sound fills her ears. She doesn’t ever remember Spike laughing without some sarcastic edge, and now he sounds genuinely happy. Her heart almost breaks, and her eyes brim.

 

She can’t do this to him no matter how angry she is, and she can’t do this because it will hurt. . . hell, it already hurts more than she ever thought it could.

 

Brushing away a tear from her cheek, she pivots on her heel, but she’s blocked in by the throng of people waiting in line and overcrowding the narrow doorway. That’s it. She has no choice now.

 

Summoning her Slayer strength, Buffy holds up her head, straightens her shoulders, and blinks back the tears.

 

The line is slow moving, but as she gets closer, she realizes that is because Spike is taking the time to have a conversation with each person. Her mind races, trying to think of what to say, and then, she’s front and center.

 

He’s glancing behind him and saying something to a tall redhead when the couple steps aside, so Buffy takes advantage of the opportunity to stare.

 

He looks just like his photo online, but he’s more vibrant and real. His lean form is covered in a plain black T-shirt and black jeans. . . same as before, and his hair is gelled so that his brown curls curve over his forehead. His skin is not tan but is darker than she’s ever seen it, and his arms are still good arms.

 

In the next moment, Spike turns back around and smiles at her, and she can tell that he has no idea who she is and that he’s definitely human.

 

The striking young woman with whom he was conversing comes forward and bends to kiss him on the cheek. “So you want a hot chocol. . .”

 

“Coffee,” he corrects her and winks a clear blue eye at Buffy. “Black.”

 

The redhead rolls her eyes. “Coffee. Whatever. Your fans don’t care if you drink hot chocolate.” She doesn’t even so much as acknowledge Buffy’s presence but speaks to her anyway, “You don’t care if William drinks hot chocolate, do you?”

 

Buffy doesn’t say anything because she might throw up if she opens her mouth. She almost forgot about the girlfriend. Hadn’t Angel said something about a girlfriend?

 

“Go to the Community Coffee shop. . . please. They have the good stuff.” He brandishes his pen and holds his hand out for Buffy’s book.

 

The redhead squeezes around the end of the table which is piled high with copies of the William Abbott novel. She pushes past Buffy, knocking her arm, but only because there’s little room in the shop. She calls back over Buffy’s head, “Only because I love you.”

 

Buffy closes her eyes at the young woman’s words. She must be in some bizarro-land, and if she closes her eyes, taps her heels together and says, “There’s no place like home,” maybe she’ll wake up in the hotel room in Houston with her sister. So much for Slayer confidence.

 

“You have to give me the book, love, so I can sign it.”

 

As soon as Spike speaks so gently to her, Buffy’s arms relax, and she finds herself staring into his eyes. Without saying a word, she searches them for something. . . anything that might indicate he recognizes her. Something shifts in the blue depths, but the change is so subtle, she almost misses it. Nevertheless, this pushes her to step forward and offer the book she has been clutching in her arms.

 

Spike takes the volume from her hand, and Buffy swears that he intentionally brushes her fingers with his own familiar ones. The touch is brief but warm, and a thousand tingles shoot from her fingertips through her arm and up to her heart. Can she really still feel this way after five years? Her body apparently says yes.

 

“Who should I make this out to?” He smiles at her, but Buffy can tell that something is off because he squints his eyes a little.

 

“Buffy Summers. Make it out to Buffy.” She’s very proud that she kept her voice from betraying all the emotion that has lodged itself in her throat.

 

Although he has the title page ready to sign, he doesn’t make a move to write. Instead, he studies her. . . truly surveys her face and asks, “So, Buffy, what did you think of the book?”

 

She tries to talk but no words come out, and Spike bows his head to start scrawling something on the paper.

 

Spike’s not watching her anymore, so she finds her voice, “I read it in one night. I couldn’t put it down. And you know the thing that I wondered the most about?”

 

Almost as if he knows she needs the distance, he doesn’t look up. “What’s that?”

 

“The ending is kinda sad. I mean, it made me cry and stuff. The love of his life finally returns his feelings, and he doesn’t believe her.”

 

Maybe the subtle shift she saw earlier was more than nothing because he suddenly makes eye contact at her words. The emotion in his bright blue eyes is palpable. . . as real and recognizable as the night he simply held her in his arms.

 

She continues before she can lose her courage, “How could he though after everything she did to him? How did he possibly forgive her?”

 

Spike’s reaction is immediate and unfiltered, “He forgave her because he loved her more than anything on this earth. She hurt him, but he also hurt her. He forgave her, and she forgave him.” He pauses and then, “And he believed her when she told him that she loved him.”

 

Buffy is confused. “He did? Then, why. . . ?”

 

Spike doesn’t take his eyes from her. “He knew she wouldn’t leave the hellmouth if she thought he believed her. She would have stayed down there with him. . . fought by his side and died. He wanted more than anything for her to live. . . for her to be happy.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Spike blinks, closes the book, and passes it back to her. Buffy takes the novel, and as she is about to turn and leave, he grabs her left hand, cradling it in his right one. He lightly and slowly runs his warm thumb over her exposed palm as if he’s trying to understand something. Buffy shivers, and this time, he notices her response.

 

Her voice small, she whispers, “It was nice meeting you.”

 

Out on the dark street again, she doesn’t even remember how she escaped the confines of the book shop.


	3. Chapter Three

Buffy wanders around the French Quarter for at least an hour to absorb herself in window shopping and people watching. The people watching on Bourbon Street is definitely distracting. There are throngs of drunken tourists pouring in and out of bars, restaurants advertising crawfish and raw oysters, the occasional strip joint, and stores filled to the brim with cheap souvenirs and Mardi Gras beads.

 

On the street corners, she witnesses the occasional kids tap dancing and singing for money and police officers directing traffic so that the horse drawn buggies can pass by. At one point, she spies a maroon demon darting in and out of a cluster of staggering college students and a man on stilts wearing a majestic mask with a long chin and bushy eyebrows. She follows the demon for a while from a distance, but she catches him ducking in a dark alleyway and adjusting his realistic-looking mask, marking him as human.

 

Tired of the push of the crowd, the stench of urine and stale food, and the seediness of the infamous tourist trap, she takes a quieter side street past Pat O’Brien’s. She hears loud voices and live jazz music flowing out the entrance. She suddenly feels a raw penetrating loneliness, so she hurries toward Royal Street where couples are leisurely pausing to peer into the windows of the closed art galleries and antique stores. Buffy does the same for a while, but again, the couple-y thing gets to her, and she moves on, plunging into darker through streets.

 

Somehow she finds herself beside a quiet French Market. Everyone has long gone home. She stops with her hands in her pockets, stares into the deep hollow darkness, and tries to imagine the marketplace filled with the busy hustle and bustle of shopkeepers selling their fruits, vegetables, and other wares to unsuspecting tourists and savvy locals. All she can envision though is Spike in that cavern beneath Sunnydale, spreading the light of his soul to save the world.

 

Distraction no longer working, Buffy makes her way back to the condo, briefly marveling at the ghost tour that’s standing outside her door. Once in her safe haven, she flips every light on in the tiny place, plugs in her phone for charging, and resumes her earlier perch on the edge of the bed.

 

She briefly puts her head in her hands. No tears come, and honestly, she feels gutted. . . like someone came along and scooped out all her insides, including her heart, and left her numb and cold.

 

Spike is human. . . Spike is William, and he’s happy with a beautiful girlfriend and a normal human life. He’s successful, too, with the book fans and the writing. Buffy remembers that he once told her about his love of poetry, so she finds his current occupation fitting, especially after she saw him in his element tonight. She can totally picture him sitting in the window of an apartment in New York, typing on his laptop with a mug of hot chocolate nearby.

 

She can’t help but smile a little. Dawn told her that she and Spike made a lot of hot chocolate together the summer Buffy was gone. 

 

Buffy catches a glimpse of Spike’s book out of the corner of her eye. Darned thing is taunting her. 

 

Sighing, she takes a breath and holds it as she opens the novel to the title page to read the inscription.

 

Buffy frowns as she takes in the message which innocuously starts with “Dear Buffy.” But then, he scribbled out something about hoping she enjoyed the book and instead wrote, “I don’t normally do this kind of thing, but I’d like to meet you tonight after the book signing. Café du Monde, 10:30 PM?” He didn’t sign his name.

 

Normally, she would blow off a line like that, but this is Spike, and there was something between them tonight.

 

She knows it.

 

Leaning over the bed, she unplugs her phone and types “Café du Monde” in her GPS. After seeing the route, she vaguely remembers from her earlier wanderings that the café is just around the corner from the condo.

 

Before she can overthink it, she is out the door and back into the night.

 

* * *

 

As Buffy passes the cathedral on the way to the café, she notices that there are definitely fewer tourists mingling around and all of the shops are closed. In front of the old church, small clusters of people linger around the palm readers and fortune tellers, whose low tables are littered with soft glowing candles and tarot cards or runes. She briefly thinks about Willow and smiles, wondering what her friend would make of this display of charlatans and faux psychics.

 

The park in front of the cathedral is empty, the black iron fence that surrounds the park bare where local artists hung their wares earlier that day. Ahead, the lights of Café du Monde beckon Buffy, promising coffee and something sweet. A few people grace the little tables beneath the striped green and white awning, making small talk and sipping drinks. The smell of chicory clings to the air, and powdered sugar is everywhere on the ground and on the table tops.

 

Spike isn’t there yet, so Buffy accepts an open table in the back and sits facing the street, so she can watch for him. Despite night’s firm hold on the city, it remains hot and humid, so she orders a frozen cafe au lait in an effort to cool off. She fidgets because waiting isn’t her strong suit, and she’s been waiting all evening. She vaguely thinks about whether this is how Spike used to feel while he waited for her.

 

Just as Buffy’s about to throw in the proverbial towel and go back to her condo to mope Angel-style, Spike arrives.

 

Even though he’s human and he doesn’t have his duster, his stride and the way he swings his arms are the same. His bright eyes scan each cluster of people, searching for her, and there’s something about the intensity of the movement that makes Buffy relax. When he spies her, she gives him a little smile and stands up, almost knocking over the tiny table because the metal chair is difficult to scoot over concrete.

 

When he reaches her, he self-consciously puts his hands in his back pockets and smiles at her in that way that always used to make her heart soften. . . that makes it soften now. “Hey. I, um, wasn’t sure you’d come.”

 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I should.” At least, she’s being honest. She sits back down, this time managing to more gracefully move closer to the table.

 

Spike lounges in the chair across from her, legs splayed. “Did you order anything?”

 

“Just this.” Buffy shakes her styrofoam cup and sucks on her straw.

 

“I could use one of those.”

 

She grins, the straw still in her mouth. “Thought you had some hot chocolate.”

 

“I did, but it’s been a long day between the flying and the book signing. I could use some caffeine.” Spike turns to flag down a waiter and continues, “And some of those little doughnuts with the powdery white stuff on top.”

 

“Beige nets. . . Beg nets,” Buffy tries to pronounce the word she saw on the menu. “Are they good?”

 

“Beignets?” He pronounces the word ben-yays, which almost makes her snicker.

 

“Is that how you say it?”

 

“Yeah. They’re delicious, pet. You’ve never had any?”

 

“Nope. Never. I’ve never been to New Orleans.”

 

The waiter shows up, and Spike orders, never taking his eyes off of Buffy, “I’ll have what she’s having, and. . .” He glances at the plastic covered menu on the table. “A couple of orders of beignets.”

 

“All right, sir. That’ll be out in a few minutes,” the waiter comments, sounding worn down.

 

“Thanks.” Once the server leaves, Spike leans forward, being mindful of the table’s sticky surface. “So, you’re probably wondering why I wrote what I did in your book.”

 

Buffy’s heart starts beating faster. “Kinda.”

 

“Honestly? I’m not really sure. It was just. . .” He thinks for a few seconds, gazing into the darkness behind the cafe. “It was just something I had to do. . . . I felt it here.” His hand automatically goes to his gut. “And I had to do something about it. That ever happen to you?” His eyes find hers again as he finishes, and then, he glances away. “I sound like such a ponce. . . You must think I’m an idiot.”

 

“Y-yeah. Actually. That’s happened to me before.” Buffy wants to say, “Like right now,” but she can’t. She has to start somewhere. . . to steer the conversation in a different direction, so she chooses, “So how long have you been a writer?”

 

He chuckles. “All my life. Started writing poetry when I was a teenager and had a crush on this girl. Oh, god, it was bad, too.”

 

Buffy smiles. “I bet she loved it though.”

 

He’s thoughtful, remembering a life that isn’t really his, “No, no she didn’t appreciate it at all.”

 

Buffy plays with the edge of her cup lid, staring at the little tear in the plastic. “Well, from what I’ve read, which is admittedly only one book, you write very well. You had me in tears. . . it felt so real.”

 

“Thank you.” She looks up at his words, and he adds, “For saying so. For some reason, when I was writing this one. . . well, it felt real to me, too. . . more real than the others, but I’m not sure why.”

 

The waiter ambles up and plops Spike’s drink and a plate full of warm doughnuts in front of them. “Need anything else?”

 

“No.” Buffy just wants the young man to go away. He thankfully takes the hint. As soon as he’s gone, she comments, “Look at that sugar! It’s like a mountain! I could ski down that mountain. . . or build a snowman.”

 

Spike laughs and nudges the plate toward her. “Ladies first.”

 

“If you insist.” Buffy picks up the top one with the most powder and sinks her teeth into the hot dough. Her mouth filled with sweet nirvana, she chews and swallows as Spike chooses one out of the stack. “Oh my god. This is delicious.” She holds up the little doughnut. “Beignets, where have you been all my life?”

 

Spike grins. “Told you.” Then, he takes a giant bite.

 

They eat in companionable silence for a while, but then, Buffy can’t help but ask another burning question.

 

“So where’s your girlfriend? Or is she your wife? She doesn’t share your love of beignets or meeting random strangers in cafes?”

 

Spike snorts and takes a sip of his coffee. “Becca? Becca’s not my girlfriend or my wife.” He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Well, she used to be my girlfriend, but we broke up about a year ago.” At Buffy’s skeptical face, he clarifies with the same ease that he elucidated the ending of his book, “It was simple. She loves me, but I don’t love her. . . not in the way she deserves, so we broke up. She’s already dating someone new and that helps because she still manages my book tours, so I can focus on the writing part. We got the friend thing down now.”

 

Buffy chews on her lower lip and remembers a time when Spike, even without his soul, truly loved her, and she wasn’t in a place to love him back. “I think I understand.”

 

Spike’s expression is one of interest. “I really want to know about you though.” 

 

“I don’t know where to start.” She doesn’t, not when she can’t really be honest with him.

 

He rescues her, “Well, where are you from?”

 

“California.” But right now, she has a temporary apartment in Cleveland and a more permanent one in Rome.

 

“And what do you do for a living?”

 

She slays things. . . things like vampires and demons. She saves the world from imminent apocalypse while being perpetually single because no human guy can handle what she does for a living. “Research. . . I research stuff like in books.” Well, Giles would be happy with this approach.

 

“Huh. What kind of research?”

 

“Old things,” pops out of Buffy’s mouth before she has time to think. She feels her eyes go a little wide as she says it. Spike can tell something is up because he raises an eyebrow.

 

So she stays in this vein, trying to repair and elaborate in a reasonable way. “Old people, old places. You know there’s a beauty in visiting places that have been around for so long. It’s like you’re revisiting a part of history that you thought was long forgotten, touched but untouched by time.”

 

Oh no, she sounds like a really bad museum docent, but somehow, her mouth keeps moving and she keeps talking, “Like New Orleans. The place I’m staying is really old, too, and you can just feel the history there even with the new furnishings and updated appliances, you know?”

 

Spike still isn’t buying what she’s saying, but he doesn’t question. “I can agree with that, pet. Where are you staying?”

 

“Some place where the haunted tour stops. It’s next on my research list.”

 

He laughs. “The French Quarter has a lot of stops on the haunted tour. Doesn’t mean they all have spooks. . . if you believe in that sort of thing.” He regards her. “You know, pet, I feel like you do something more. . . something important.” He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to protest. “Not that research isn’t important, but there’s something about you.”

 

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”

 

“No. I’m not really an all-the-girls type,” he says with complete sincerity. “I think I may be more of the one girl type.” He pauses and does the studying-her-face thing he did earlier at the book signing. “I just can’t put my finger on it though. You feel so familiar to me. Like I know you from somewhere. . . from some other lifetime. I don’t believe in reincarnation, but. . . .”

 

Spike reaches out to touch her arm, and Buffy unintentionally pulls back. Isn’t she supposed to want him to be happy? Didn’t Angel say to leave him be? What is she doing?

 

Pain and uncertainty flashes across Spike’s features at her reaction, and the expression on his face is so recognizable that Buffy’s heart breaks.

 

Oh god, she’s hurting him.

 

She bolts up, jarring the table so that it wobbles a bit. “I-I’m sorry. I have to go.”

 

She practically runs out of the little café.

 

“Buffy, wait!” he appeals, but she doesn’t turn around because then, he’ll see her tears and he’ll know there’s something to what he said.

 

Not thinking, she veers right at the exit and almost crashes into a homeless man. She mumbles an apology, but he starts following her, trying to gain her attention.

 

“Ma’am. I think you have my shoes!”

 

Buffy picks up the pace to put distance between them but not rouse suspicion from the people around her. He matches her speed until she finds herself on a darkened street with closed shops and no lingering tourists.

 

The homeless man snatches her arm.

 

“Look, mister, I don’t have your shoes!” She spins to face him and hears a memorable growl and catches a glimpse of flashing yellow eyes. This gives her the fuel to quip, “And even if I gave you my shoes, they definitely wouldn’t fit!”

 

Buffy punches him in the nose with her free fist and bends to pull a stake out of her boot. She bounces back up right as the homeless vampire regains his bearings and returns the cuff, which lands solidly on her cheekbone. He tries to come back with a left hook, but Buffy ducks and dances sideways, roundhouse kicking him in the side, and he falls to the ground with a thud.

 

Before Buffy can land the stake home, she hears more figures approach from behind, and she knows they’re vamps before she sees them, not that she can see much in the dim light. She vaguely thinks that the city should invest in some good street lights in the Quarter.

 

“Slayer,” one of the shadowy figures hisses.

 

“Yep, that’s me.”

 

“You’re not the usual Slayer,” a second notes.

 

“You’re right about that. I’m definitely not from around here.” Buffy can’t recall the name of the Slayer who handles the New Orleans beat, but Buffy imagines that she has her hands full what with the city’s reputation for attracting beings of the supernatural variety, especially after Hurricane Katrina.

 

“She has my shoes,” the homeless vampire whines. . . directly in her ear. He twists her wrist, she sucks in her breath at the sharp pain, and her stake clatters to the ground, rolling into the black.

 

With that, Buffy slides into her usual fighting routine, hitting, kicking, dodging, and taking blows. She focuses on trying to wear the vampires out while also scanning her environment for items that could be potential stakes. After several minutes, she realizes that this isn’t working, partially because the street is dark and unfamiliar territory and partially because her emotions about Spike have been erratic. She’s usually more focused.

 

Then, she sustains a particularly sharp blow to her head, and she’s sent sprawling.

 

She’s jumping to her feet when she hears Spike’s voice pour out of the dark, “Buffy! Catch, love!”

 

She instinctively raises her hand, and her stake lands neatly against her palm.

 

There’s a crack, and Spike grunts, which sends Buffy into a frenzy.

 

Before the vampires realize what’s happening, they’re all dust floating in the air.

 

Buffy hurries to Spike’s side, and without thinking, she offers her hand to help him up. As soon as she touches him, her whole body hums, and for the briefest of moments, she’s back in a Sunnydale cemetery, teaching Slayers-in-training how to hunt vampires. She feels a strong pull to throw her arms around him.

 

But his words stop her, “Buffy. . . were those vampires? Are you a Slayer?”

 

And with that, she’s running. . . again. Except this time, he runs after her.


	4. Chapter Four

As a vampire, Spike could easily keep up with Buffy, but now that he’s human, she quickly outstrips him, grateful that she’s now familiar with the French Quarter’s twists and turns. Within minutes, she’s at the street entrance to the condo, and hands shaking, she fumbles with her cross body purse to find the key. Over the mournful sound of a local musician playing the saxophone, Spike calls her name again from the street corner, but she ignores him, slides the key home, hurries into the narrow hallway, and closes and latches the door.

 

Heart thundering, she leans back against the wood to catch her breath.

 

Another voice comes to her from the small courtyard, “Buffy?”

 

Buffy’s eyes fly open, and she views her sister alighted on one of the chairs. “Dawn? What are you doing here? *How* did you get here?”

 

As Buffy enters the courtyard, Dawn hops up and embraces her. “Well, I flew on a plane to get here. . . just like you.”

 

“But how did you find me?”

 

Dawn smiles, proud of herself, “Went to the bookstore, bought a map of New Orleans and did a locater spell.”

 

“I didn’t know you could do a locater spell. I’m impressed.”

 

“Watcher 101.” Dawn’s eyes shift sideways. “I fumbled a bit and set fire to the carpet in our hotel room, so we’re probably gonna have a big bill. But I did manage to put out the flames before the smoke detectors went off.”

 

Buffy ignores her sister’s concern about finances. Giles can pay for it; he’s the one who wanted them in Houston in the first place. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping with the big to-do in Houston?”

 

Dawn shrugs. “Giles is flying in to help out. He’ll be more help than me since I’m only junior Watcher.” Dawn shrugs. “And I wanted to check on you. . . see how you were holding up. Plus. . . it’s Spike.” At Buffy’s expression, she tacks on, “You sent a text remember? ‘William Abbott is Spike.’”

 

To Buffy, sending that text seems like a lifetime ago. “Oh yeah.”

 

Dawn stubbornly juts her chin out. “And I care about him, too.”

 

Buffy hadn’t realized how much her sister cared, but she supposes she should have. “I know that. Wait. . . how did you get in?”

 

“Picking locks: also part of Watcher training.” Her dark blue eyes gleam with pride.

 

Despite her distress, Buffy can’t help but roll her eyes. “Great. So they’re teaching my baby sister breaking and entering.”

 

“Only for a good cause. I’m way over the shoplifting thing. Why are you all out of breath?”

 

Now it’s Buffy’s turn to be uncomfortable. “Running. There are apparently lots of vampires in the Quarter.”

 

“Somehow I’m not surprised. It *is* New Orleans. Did you know that there’s a ghost tour that stops at this place? And hey, didn’t Anne Rice used to live in town?”

 

Buffy shrugs and sinks into one of the patio chairs. Thinking about Anne Rice and vampire novels pushes her feelings about Spike to the forefront. “I saw him.”

 

Dawn sits next to her. “Spike? You did? I mean, is he him?”

 

Buffy nods. “William is definitely Spike. Angel told me.”

 

“You talked with Angel?”

 

“Yeah, and he said that Spike was made human after that battle in L.A. The Powers didn’t give him a choice. They made him human and established him in New York with a writing career and a girlfriend. And they erased all memories of being a vampire. . . all memories of us.”

 

“Whoa. He really doesn’t know anything about anything?” Dawn stretches her legs in front of her.

 

“No. Well, he does. . . I think he knows something. I could tell when I saw him.”

 

“How?”

 

“I went to the book signing, and he wrote this message in the book, and the way he looked at me. It’s like he could tell that he knew me from somewhere.” Despite the aching in her wrist, Buffy presses the fingers of her right hand into her left one, recalling the movement of Spike’s thumb over her palm, over the place where the flames. . . . She shakes her head.

 

“What did the message say?”

 

“To meet him for coffee and beignets at Café du Monde.”

 

Dawn’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes brighten. “Is *that* how you say it? Beignets. I always wondered.” She sobers and asks, “And you met him?”

 

“I did, and I thought. . . well, I’ll just see what he wants, and Dawn, it went really well. It was like being with him again. . . only not, and I found out that he actually doesn’t have a girlfriend. . . or a wife. Then, he started to tell me that he felt like there was something about me that he recognized. And well, I sort of freaked out a little.” Buffy takes a deep breath, so she can hold back her feelings.

 

“Sort of?” Dawn pushes to the edge of the chair.

 

“I left the café.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Angel told me to leave him be. . . told me to let Spike have his second chance at life, and I got scared. I mean, I want him to have that. . . to be happy. And honestly, I don’t know how much of my reaction and need to see him is related to reading about all the stuff that happened in Sunnydale. . . you know, old memories bringing up old feelings and how much is that I genuinely care about him.”

 

“I get that, but Buffy, I read the same book. It affected me, but not as much as you. I mean, you dropped everything and came here. That says something.”

 

Buffy studies the toe of her boot. “But I don’t know what it says.” She holds her arms against her abdomen. “Dawn, he followed me out of the café, and he saw me slay a bunch of vampires. He helped me find my stake when I dropped it, and h-he knew what he was seeing.”

 

“Oh my god, Buffy. What happened next?”

 

“I ran back here.”

 

“Where’s Spike?”

 

Buffy feels miserable. “He followed me, but I made it back here right as he almost caught up. He definitely saw where I came in.”

 

Dawn is on her feet in an instant. She dashes down the small hallway and unlatches the door. Without a word, she pulls back the wooden door. The music from the lone saxophone player filters in, a soundtrack to her fears, and Spike appears, his eyes full of confusion but also determination.

 

Buffy rises to her feet, her heart in her throat.

 

Wearing Willow’s resolve face, Dawn is firm. “Buffy, we should tell him the truth.”

 

* * *

 

Out of concern about who might be listening, Buffy and Dawn decide to move to the condo before making big revelations. Talking well into the depths of the night, Buffy and Dawn huddle on the bed while Spike alternately paces and slumps near them, depending on his emotional and mental state and on what part they’re disclosing. They tell him everything. . . beyond what he wrote about. He asks questions, particularly about the parts that don’t fit with his novel, and they do their best to answer.

 

Buffy tries hard to not display too much emotion because she doesn’t want to blow his mind even more than it’s already being blown. Nevertheless, she and Dawn both shed quiet tears at one point or another.

 

By the time they’ve run out of story to tell, Spike silently sits between the two women, his head in his hands, not in anguish but in disbelief. Buffy is too afraid to touch him because she doesn’t know how he might respond, but Dawn gently pats his shoulder.

 

Spike rubs his thighs and leans forward, resting his forearms on his jeans. “I must be insane because objectively I shouldn’t believe anything that you’re telling me. For all intents and purposes, I should be getting away from you two, going back to my hotel room, maybe calling the police to get a restraining order, and getting ready for the next leg of my book tour, but for some reason, I had to hear you out. For some reason, I have to be here.” He points to the floor before pausing for a long while.

 

“And god help me, part of me believes what you’re telling me.” Spike glances at Buffy then, but she’s studying her hands in her lap. “Partly because of what I felt when I saw you at the book signing and partly because of what I saw tonight when you killed those. . . vampires.”

 

“I felt it, too,” she finally acknowledges.

 

“I feel it now.” He sighs. “But it’s also not everyday that you find out that your whole life is a bloody lie and that feels. . .”

 

“Like you’re in complete shock and disbelief and like you might not be real?” Dawn offers.

 

Spike smiles, but his eyes are sad. “Yeah. I guess you know how that feels.”

 

“You probably need some time to make sense of it all, too,” she adds.

 

“And that’s why, as much as I feel like I have to be here, I need to go.”

 

Spike stands, and Dawn emulates his stance before pulling him into a big hug. Buffy stands, too, crossing her arms and awkwardly watching the affection between Spike and her sister. Of course, he notices her distance, and as his hug with Dawn ends, he gently caresses Buffy’s cheek until she is forced to make eye contact.

 

He searches her eyes for a long moment, the corners of his mouth lifting a little.

 

And then, he leaves.

 

* * *

 

The sound of the cathedral bells and soft yellow sunbeams wake Buffy up after only a few hours of sleep. Dawn is still fast asleep curled up next to her. Despite her exhaustion, Buffy decides she needs to go for a walk in the early morning, so she slips on her shoes and yoga pants and ventures into the quiet French Quarter.

 

She doesn’t let herself dwell on what happened with Spike the previous night but finds herself meandering past the bookstore again. The sign advertising his book signing is gone. She travels back the other way, passing the Jackson Brewery, which is surprisingly a shopping mall, and Cafe du Monde where tourists are already gathering for breakfast. She passes the place where she thinks she dusted the vamps, but the street is scrubbed clean of all evidence.

 

She stops at another coffee shop for lattes and then heads back to the condo, unsure what to do with herself. Dawn is awake when she returns, and she gratefully accepts the espresso drink.

 

Buffy starts the cry, and then, Dawn is in tears as well. All the emotion they felt the previous night but didn’t express pours forth as they hold each other.

 

When there are no more tears, Buffy sits back on the bed. “So do you think he’ll come back?”

 

Dawn gives her a helpless look. “I don’t know.”

 

“We should stay. Give him a few days.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“And then, we’ll go back to Houston to help Giles and the Slayers there.” Buffy doesn’t really want to return to Houston because it means that she had to move forward again, and she isn’t sure she’s ready to.

 

Dawn plays with the hem of her pajama bottoms. “Gonna be a big one.”

 

Buffy thinks about the implications of vampires controlling NASA and the oil industry. “No kidding.”

 

“Since when did vamps get all focused and stuff?”

 

Buffy can tell Dawn is trying to lighten the mood, so she follows her lead. “What do you mean?”

 

“Remember when they just wandered around cemeteries, occasionally tried to destroy the world, and were just all grrr?” Dawn crooks her hands into makeshift claws.

 

Buffy emits a laugh. She needs to laugh. “Those were the days.”

 

“Now they’re trying to climb the corporate ladder.” Dawn takes a big sip of her forgotten latte. “Mmm. Caffeine. Have you noticed that the coffee is stronger around here?”

 

Buffy retrieves her cup from the nightstand. “Yes, and it’s needed.”


	5. Chapter Five

The agreed upon few days stretch into a few weeks, and Buffy and Dawn spend the time touring the city and patrolling the streets and cemeteries even beyond the Quarter. They run into the New Orleans Slayer, Emily, and help her with a few crises. They also eat lots of Cajun food and pralines, and Dawn discovers a penchant for the baked oysters at Acme Oyster House while Buffy prefers the chicken and sausage gumbo at the Gumbo Shop.

 

Everywhere they go, they search faces for a glimpse of Spike, but they never find him. Even though they don’t find him, Buffy and Dawn spend a good portion of their time re-visiting memories of their life in Sunnydale. Sometimes the other’s perspective on certain events is very surprising and illuminating. In any case, the time together really talking about real stuff brings them closer.

 

What finally makes them decide to leave New Orleans is the change on William Abbott’s website. The book tour is cancelled, and Spike posts a letter to his fans, apologizing, citing illness, and stating that he has returned to New York to write his next book.

 

The sisters are both heartbroken but resigned, and they call Giles to tell him that they are on their way. They fill him in on the details, and although he says that maybe it’s for the best, Buffy can tell he hurts because they hurt. When they arrive in Houston, he’s waiting for them at the airport, and he hugs them close and carries their luggage. Even though Buffy would have been fine hauling everything, she lets him take care of her.

 

They discover that Giles changed hotels and now has a large suite with an extra room, so they stay with him. The hotel even supplies them with an unusually comfortable sofa bed, and Giles gets permission from Dawn’s training Watchers for her to stay with them and not head back to Council headquarters. Dawn is more than thrilled to be getting field training from Giles. Somehow being back with Giles brings Buffy comfort even if he has them reading a pile of books almost as soon as they walk in the door.

 

* * *

 

The day after Buffy and Dawn arrive in Houston, Liz and Jenn tumble into the Giles’s hotel room, bearing research snacks and energy. The two Slayers could be sisters. They’re young and both tall and slim with dark wavy hair. They laugh a lot for Slayers, and instead of saying “you guys,” they say, “y’all.” The darkness somehow hasn’t touched them yet. Buffy vaguely remembers being that young and naïve, and she definitely knows she doesn’t want to go back there.

 

“So what have you guys learned while Dawn and I were in New Orleans?” Buffy plops in one of the empty chairs around the designated research table.

 

Chewing on a Twizzler, Liz says, “Well, we did a bit of recon, and we now know that the vamps have an ‘in’ through a group of engineers. The engineers usually meet for weekly margaritas at Chuy’s, and one of those nights went wrong. Some of them are now vampires, too.”

 

“Who turned them?” Dawn asks, snagging a Twizzler out of the bag on the table.

 

A thick volume balanced in his hand, Giles runs his finger over a paragraph. Then, he takes off his glasses. “I believe a lesser known student of Sir Isaac Newton. Like Newton, he studied mathematics and astronomy.”

 

Buffy opens a bag of chips and decides maybe focusing on the exposition will help her divert from her thoughts and feelings about Spike. “Does this student vamp have a name?”

 

Giles continues, “He’s so lesser known that when he was turned, he took on a new name. He’s changed surnames over the centuries, but he always keeps his adopted first name.”

 

“Which is?” Buffy asks.

 

“Isaac.”

 

“Way to be creative. What’s his current last name?”

 

“Taggart,” Jenn supplies. 

 

Forehead crinkling, Buffy frowns. “Are you sure this isn’t Isaac Newton himself getting his undead self on? ‘Cause that would be kinda cool being that he’s a historical figure and all.”

 

Jenn shakes her head. “We thought about that. Nope. Not Isaac Newton.”

 

“Is he dangerous?” Dawn scoots her chair closer to the table and tugs over one of the open books.

 

Giles walks around them, resuming his exposition, “Well, he’s smart, so he often lays low, and he has rarely allowed himself to be identified in any slaughters over the centuries. There are rumored accounts that he was an active participant in several mass slayings of villagers in Europe, Asia, and oddly enough, Latin America. But what makes him unique is that he’s amassed a rather large. . .”

 

Taking a sip of her Dr. Pepper, Liz interrupts, “He’s rich. . . like millionaire rich.”

 

Buffy is thoughtful. “A vampire with resources. That’s not exactly new, but it’s interesting how he’s using them. Why does he want a hand in this industry?”

 

Giles shuts the book he’s holding and taps his glasses on his lower lip. “My guess is more power and resources along with connections in the oil and space industries will allow him to have a worldwide influence, which he can use. . .”

 

“In a variety of nefarious ways per usual?” Dawn asks.

 

Giles sighs, clearly giving up.

 

Jenn types an address in the Google Earth app on her phone. “And we found where he currently lives. He has a house in Bellaire.” She reveals a picture of a large two story white house with very few windows and a gated fence.

 

Dawn squints at the image. “Far cry from a crypt.”

 

“He’s got several minions, and we think one of them is a witch. So we’ll need as much help as we can get. We think he’s turning one or two of the engineers at a time and then helping them through the initial phases until they can return to their jobs,” Liz explains.

 

Buffy leans back in her chair. “So stopping him is a priority.”

 

“Yep. He’s already had a few problems with his engineers. Some of them have gotten away and gone home and killed their families.”

 

“Damn.” Buffy is still amused that her little sister curses.

 

“Right?” Jenn grins at Dawn.

 

“We got a witch to counter their witch?” Buffy asks.

 

“Nope, but Giles called Willow. She gets in town tonight.”

 

“Oh good.” Buffy hasn’t seen her friend in a while, and she could really use some best friend talk.

 

Liz and Jenn give each other a look and stand as one, which is half-creepy, half-cute.

 

Jenn speaks up, “We’re going to head out for supplies. Dawn, wanna come?”

 

“Sure!”

 

Now Buffy feels really old.

 

When Giles and Buffy are alone, Buffy says, “Thank you. For coming all this way.”

 

Giles slides into a seat next to her, arms between his splayed legs. “You’re welcome. I haven’t exactly always been there when you needed me, so I try to make up for it every now and then.”

 

Buffy leans her head on her father figure’s shoulder, “You’ve been there plenty. You’re here now.”

 

After several seconds, he says, “Regarding Spike.”

 

“What about him?” She has to try hard to sound nonchalant.

 

“When I said that it was for the best, I didn’t mean. . . . I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you hoped in New Orleans.”

 

Buffy closes her eyes. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I hoped they’d go.”

 

“I’m also sorry for how I handled things with him in Sunnydale. It wasn’t my place to. . . not after the way I botched things the previous year. I decide I need to step away from taking care of things for you and then I think I have a right to step back in again?”

 

Buffy hesitates, not sure how to react. She knows Giles is referring to his role in Principal Wood’s vendetta. The spark of anger is muted now. She finally says, “Thanks.” This doesn’t let Giles off the hook, but it also means she forgives him.

 

“I suppose his sudden reappearance has me thinking about Sunnydale and how things ended there. . . what we did.”

 

“Join the club.” Her mind goes a thousand other Sunnydale-related places besides Spike. “I believe we did the best that we could.”

 

“Jennifer and Elizabeth are. . .”

 

“Exceptionally perky. . . almost obnoxiously so?” Both Giles’s eyebrows go up, so she adds, “We were like that once, weren’t we?”

 

“Well, I was not, but you, Willow, and Xander. . . you were young. You certainly kept me on my toes.”

 

“We’re not young now?”

 

Giles chuckles. “Not as young, but aren’t we all?”

 

Before Buffy can reply, someone’s cell phone rings on the table. She lifts her head as Giles leans forward for the device.

 

“I still can’t get over you having a cell phone. . . and texting!” she teases. Although she’s tempted, she decides not to revisit the digital book idea right now.

 

“I’m not that old!” Donning his glasses, Giles studies the screen as if hunting for something and then pushes on the screen to accept the call.

 

“Hello.” A pause and then, “This is he.” Buffy intently watches his face for a hint about the conversation as Giles listens, but he’s not good at giving her clues the way Xander does when he’s on the phone. “I see. Well, that is surprising.” After several more seconds, Giles begins to pace around the room. “Dear Lord. Why didn’t you call me sooner?” A shorter break. “The time difference doesn’t matter! If you receive any more information, I expect a call straight away.” He catches Buffy out of the corner of his eye. “Or at least send a bloody text!” Then, he hangs up.

 

Buffy is impatient. “What is it?”

 

“It seems that William Abbott has donated a sum of money to the Council and flagged it for you and Dawn.”

 

“What?!” Buffy’s mind spins, and her rebellious heart trips into hope.

 

“The amount is sizeable.” Giles sets the cell on the table.

 

“Like how much?”

 

“Half a million dollars.”

 

Buffy is floored. After living paycheck to paycheck for years, taking stuff out of the grocery cart at the front of the line, and once having the electricity turned off, she can’t even fathom that amount of money. “Spike has that much money?”

 

“William Abbott does.”

 

“Why would he do that?”

 

Giles softens toward his Slayer. “Apparently, something you said struck a chord.”

 

“Wow.” Her choice of words seems woefully inadequate.

 

“The more troublesome part is that now, he’s coming here. To Houston. I believe he’s trying to cross paths with Willow on the way. She’s had a few layovers.”

 

“What?!” Buffy repeats. Unbidden, her heart is hurting again. Stupid heart.

 

* * *

 

Almost as soon as Dawn, Giles, and the two Slayers leave the hotel to further investigate Isaac Taggert’s witch and to patrol some cemeteries, Buffy receives a text from Willow.

 

“Buffy? I just landed at Houston Intercontinental. I’m in a long line to catch a cab. Will be there ASAP.”

 

Buffy, who stayed behind and has been obsessively and surreptitiously monitoring Willow’s flight status while the others did more planning, types back, “I know. I’ve been checking.”

 

“I had some delays, but I’m here now. Heard you and Dawnie were in New Orleans. How was the city since Katrina?”

 

Buffy tries to figure out how to sum up her time there in a text. After a few seconds, she decides she can’t and only answers Willow’s question. “Not bad. I don’t think the Quarter got hit too badly.”

 

“Good! You’ll never guess who I ran into at the airport!”

 

Buffy holds her breath. “Let me guess. . . Spike. Well, not exactly Spike.”

 

“How did you know???”

 

“We found out from the Council.” For once, Buffy is finding that texting is not conveying nearly enough information. “Can I call you?”

 

“Er, no.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because he’s waiting for a cab with me!” Buffy grins, picturing Willow being flustered.

 

“Oh. Well, is he being. . .” She doesn’t know what to type and decides on, “strange?”

 

“No. Actually, he got stuck with me on a layover in Chicago, and we ended up at a bar. We had drinks, and he filled me in on his current status.”

 

“What do you think?” Buffy twists her braid around her finger.

 

“Well, he’s definitely human and not a demon or shapeshifter or anything.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“There’s something about him. Something’s unstable about his essence.”

 

“What do you mean?” Buffy’s fingers stay ready to type as she leans against the wall.

 

“It’s something changing about him. Like part of his aura is splitting off.”

 

Buffy wonders if what Willow’s describing is what she witnessed in New Orleans. “I think I know what you mean.”

 

“I’m not sure how to describe it, but I think something in his timeline as William is overlapping with his timeline as Spike. I’m actually glad he found me. . . found us because I think that this shift could be bad for the world’s timeline.”

 

Buffy feels queasy. “Do you think that Dawn and I caused this?”

 

Willow’s response is clear and direct. “No.”

 

“Can we help him?”

 

“I think so. Actually, I’ll have him talk with you when we get there. Gotta go. We’re up for a cab.”

 

“Okay! See you soon!” Buffy frowns at her final, overly cheerful message. It doesn’t communicate just how concerned she suddenly feels.


	6. Chapter Six

About forty-five minutes later, Willow and Spike show up at the door each carrying bags and looking a bit haggard from travelling. The first thing Buffy notices is that Spike has bleached his hair back to its usual platinum blonde color, and her heart literally skips a beat. He hangs back as Willow enters the room and drops her luggage, and Buffy gives her friend a tight hug, closing her eyes to borrow her friend’s inner strength.

 

“You made it.”

 

Willow sweeps her short red hair into a ponytail. “We did. Remind me to always book a direct flight from now on even if I have to book months in advance and spend a little more. Spending hours in multiple airports is no longer on my bucket list.” She lifts a finger. “And don’t even tell me to magic myself around. Reminds me of Anya and weirds me out. . . well, me and others.”

 

The corner of Buffy’s mouth goes up. “Noted. I’ll be sure to be reminder girl.”

 

“And right now, I need a shower. . . a really hot, long shower to wash off the airport grime.”

 

Buffy motions toward the back of the suite. “Bathroom’s all yours. Clean towels are under the sink.”

 

“Thanks. And you two need to talk.” Willow gives them both her patented stern look and heads toward the bathroom.

 

Hands in the pockets of his dark grey jeans, Spike is hovering outside the room as if he needs an invitation. “Hi.”

 

She purposefully keeps her tone light even though it’s a far cry from how she really feels inside. “Hi, yourself. You’re welcome to come in. . . William.” For once, she’s glad he can’t hear how fast her heart is beating.

 

He smiles at her hesitation and steps over the threshold, pulling his roller bag behind him. “Don’t rightly know who I am anymore either.”

 

They find their way to the sofa and sit near one another but not close enough to touch. Buffy keeps her hands in her lap and waits. The not-making-eye-contact thing makes the situation a little less awkward.

 

She begins with the obvious, “You bleached your hair.” She wants to reach out and touch the strands, but she clasps her hands together instead.

 

He shrugs. “It felt right somehow.”

 

“What does Becca think?”

 

“She thinks I’ve lost my mind, but she’s been thinking that for a while now.”

 

“Does she know you’re here?”

 

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “What she thinks doesn’t matter to me, love. . . not the way you alluding to. Thought you knew that.”

 

Buffy isn’t sure why she’s pushing this issue other than jealousy that doesn’t sit right with her, so she sets aside the topic, an apology in her voice, “I know that.”

 

“Sorry that I pulled a disappearing act.”

 

“Well, Dawn and I just sorta told you a bunch of unbelievable stuff, and you didn’t know us from Adam.” She picks a piece of lint off the denim of her jeans and rolls the bit of fabric between her fingers.

 

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.” He can’t seem to stop himself because his next words are rushed like he’s been holding them inside too long. “I don’t know why, Buffy, but there’s something in my. . . blood telling me not to hurt you or Dawn. It’s like it’s ingrained and unbending. . . permanent.” Embarrassed, he intentionally tries to press the proverbial brakes, “I think I knew it the first time I saw you.”

 

But Spike’s first time wasn’t the first time, not in Buffy’s mind and heart. She bites her inner cheek to keep from crying again. Crying’s never been her modus operandi, and she’s shed far too many tears in the last few weeks. Running and avoiding are more her speed.

 

She resists the urge to pepper him with questions and only asks, “Where did you go?”

 

“Back to New York. There were some practical things to take care of. I cancelled the book tour.”

 

“I saw.” Buffy doesn’t want to tell him that she and Dawn incessantly visited his website for news while they were in New Orleans.

 

“Becca’s not too happy with me right now.” He doesn’t expect a response to this, so he continues, “And I did a lot of thinking, something I’m not exactly known for doing. As long as I can remember, I rarely slow down enough in my personal life. . . only when I really care about something or someone.”

 

Buffy makes a little sound of mirth and takes a peek at Spike. “That sounds familiar.”

 

His blue eyes shine when he looks at her. “I realized that I was starting to have indications of changes in me even before I met you. I mean, I wrote the last book for a reason; I was having these dreams before I even started writing it. Thought it was my imagination. Then, I realized I wasn’t in love with Becca for a reason, too. This alternate life, for lack of a better term, it doesn’t seem to want to stay put away.”

 

“I think I kind of understand. I’ve been experiencing something similar.”

 

“You have?” He sounds relieved.

 

She nods, running her hands over the soft fabric of the cushion. “I’ve been feeling like the past is more present since I read your book. . . all the emotions and memories are fresh again. It’s obviously not the same as having a suppressed identity come forth, but I can relate.”

 

Spike leans back and studies her hands. “Lately, I’ve been having urges to go for walks in the middle of the night, which is fine where I live in New York, but it’s unusual for me. My dreams are more vivid and more frequent, and I have random memories that don’t fit with what I know about my life. Once I even lost a brief period of time, and I woke up on the kitchen floor. I know it wasn’t a seizure because I’m not epileptic, and well, because I did some research.”

 

Buffy is alarmed at this news, thinking that this must be what Willow was talking about, but she lets him keep talking.

 

He doesn’t stay with himself though, “Pet, I didn’t even think to ask you about your life. And I mean, here I am talking about connections and feeling something, but it’s been five years, and I can imagine that so much has happened that you haven’t shared with me. I can imagine that you would have someone else.” He falters. “Not that I have a right to know about any of it.”

 

Buffy almost giggles because what he’s suggesting seems so ludicrous in her head. She hasn’t had time for dating, not with the trips around the world averting apocalypses, gathering up and training Slayers, and not living in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. “Kinda been too busy to date. Well, there’s been a few. . . I mean, here and there. . .” She trails off, slightly embarrassed to be confessing any details of her sex life with Spike.

 

He chuckles. “I get it. You had an itch to scratch and you scratched it. No harm in that.”

 

“And as far as the rest of my life following Sunnydale, I will be happy to tell you all about it someday when we’re less. . . occupied.” She knows there might not be a someday, but she says it anyway.

 

Spike doesn’t make any false promises. “I may take you up on that.”

 

Now it’s Buffy’s turn to ask a question, so she decides on the one that will hopefully lead to the questions she really wants answered, “Why did you give Dawn and me so much money? Was that one of the ‘practical’ things? And how did you even know where to find us?”

 

“I found you because of what you told me in New Orleans. Between my own investigating and the work of a private investigator friend of mine, finding the Council was easy. As for the why about giving you money, I have a lot of it.” He sighs, no doubt realizing this is a woefully inadequate reason. He’s silent for several seconds. “And I thought that if I’m going to go down this path. . . if my life is going to be changing, someone should benefit from the wealth I’ll leave behind. And you didn’t get it all. I left some to Becca to handle my estate and some to a charity for writers.”

 

Buffy’s mind is going fifty different directions, but she manages, “You don’t have any left?”

 

“I have enough. . . enough to get here, enough to sort things out.”

 

“Sort what out?”

 

“My choice. . . the only choice I’m left with.” He doesn’t sound despondent or mixed up, just resolute.

 

Buffy swallows and asks because she knows Spike needs her to ask, “What choice?”

 

“The choice to stay William Abbott or to return to being Spike.”

 

“And being a vampire again, do you realize what that means?” She feels like she’s holding her breath.

 

“Yeah, I think I do, love. . . crazy dreams, remember?” He laughs, but this time his laughter is tinged with a sadness and pain that comes with a deeper knowing.

 

Wanting to reassure him, Buffy finds herself closer to him and reaching for his hand. Spike’s eyes light at her touch, and he weaves his warm fingers with hers.

 

He plays with her thumb. “There was a lot of good in those dreams, too.”

 

“I just want you to know that if we can help, whatever you decide, I support you in that decision.” She hopes he hears the earnestness in her words; she hopes she’s hidden any trace of her own personal feelings that might affect his decision.

 

“That means. . . more than you know.” His blue eyes find hers again. “It’s actually nice to have a choice in the matter.”

 

Willow’s concerned voice comes out from the doorway, “You may not have much time to make that choice.” Buffy and Spike look up to see the freshly clean, redheaded witch watching them with a worry line between her eyes. “We have to make a move now. Looks like we need to re-prioritize the Isaac Taggert situation.”

 

Buffy and Spike listen as Willow explains how she plans to use magic to shift Spike’s lifeline to either Spike or William. The metaphor of New Orleans and the hurricane is easy, so Willow uses it. She says that the leakage between their lifelines is like the levees in New Orleans that weren’t properly maintained and sprung leaks when Hurricane Katrina hit the city. Because Spike didn’t have a say in how his lifeline was changed, his spirit was like Lake Pontchartrain in that it overwhelmed the levees and found the cracks in the lifeline that the Powers that Be created for William Abbott.

 

If Spike chooses William’s lifeline, Willow will shore up the levees for him so that Spike stays at bay, and if Spike chooses his former lifeline, she will tear down the levees. If they choose to do nothing about the problem, the strain will cause a dimensional rift that could have devastating consequences for the world. The split timeline will create a small but potent fissure that will ripple out and affect everyone. . . kind of like a butterfly effect.

 

“And if I choose Spike’s lifeline, what happens to William’s?” Spike’s question sounds funny in Buffy’s mind. “What about my soul?

 

Willow nods as if she is expecting his query. “I don’t think that William’s lifeline can be completely erased because frankly, I’m not *that* powerful, and it would have the same ripple effect we’re trying to prevent. Odds are, I will create some sort of death for him. . . something that won’t affect all the people in his life’s timeline, but you and me and Dawnie. . . we will remember William. And everyone who’s met William. Your soul will remain intact. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

Goosebumps break out on Spike’s arms at Willow’s words, and Buffy squeezes his hand and asks, “What about the third option where Spike’s lifeline is restored, but he remains human?”

 

“I don’t believe the Powers will let me. It’s kind of an either or option.”

 

“And if you push back Spike’s essence and he chooses to stay William, what will prevent Spike from breaking through again?”

 

“If that’s the case, I don’t think it will happen again.” Willow sounds sure.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it will have been his choice.”

 

Spike cocks his head. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

 

“What about the consequences of using magic to make this repair?” Buffy’s memories of the past weigh heavy.

 

Willow and Spike exchange a look, and Willow says, “We talked about this, and I think because the consequences of not stepping in would be dire for more than just. . .”

 

“I’m willing to risk it,” Spike finishes for her.

 

“And this time, I won’t be invoking darker forces.” Willow states this simply but leaves unspoken the part about invoking darker forces to raise the dead.

 

Buffy’s cell phone beeps, indicating that she has a text message. Willow fetches it for her and reads the message aloud. “It’s from Giles. He says, ‘Meet us at Memorial Park as soon as possible. Please bring the scythe. There are ten Byclof demons that are engaging in a ritual and holding several joggers hostage. Elizabeth and Jennifer are tied up with the Taggert situation.’” Willow is amused. “I can hear him saying these texts out loud. We need to teach him some texting shorthand.”

 

Buffy somehow manages to smile. “Agreed.” Then, she glances with apprehension at Spike who hasn’t let go of her hand.

 

“Go,” he insists. “I’ll be fine. The witch and I. . . we’ve got this.”

 

“We do.” Willow crosses her arms. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

 

Buffy reluctantly breaks contact and goes to unpack her scythe. When she returns to the living area of the suite, Willow is out of the room, sorting through herbs from her bag and preparing them in the suite’s tiny kitchen.

 

Spike stands to meet Buffy.

 

“So, pet,” he says in a low tone that Willow can’t hear, “I would be remiss if I didn’t do one more thing before this all goes down.”

 

Buffy searches his eyes, which are laden with emotion. “What do you mea. . .”

 

Spike strides forward and brushes his fingers over her cheek, bringing his lips to hers. They’re warm and soft on hers, and she follows his lead, allowing him to glide his lips over hers in a gentle rhythm that she wants to get lost in. With each motion, he lingers just long enough for her to almost gasp before he moves again so that she is focused solely on the feeling of their touch. Right as she is about to burst from the desire rippling through her body, he ends the affection, his lips millimeters from her still parted ones, his breath gently mingling with hers. When she opens her eyes and willingly falls into his blue ones, Buffy is startled to view something like love alive in his gaze.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, pulling her into a hug.

 

She wraps his arms around his waist and listens to his rapidly beating heart beneath her ear. “For what?”

 

“For everything. For finding me. For telling me the truth.”

 

Trying to stay strong, Buffy extricates herself from the embrace. “You’re welcome.”

 

Then, she leaves him behind to join Giles and Dawn in the never ending fight.


	7. Chapter Seven

Arriving at her destination, Buffy decides to do what she always does when her personal life is in limbo: she slays. Giles and Dawn are easy to find in Houston’s Memorial Park despite how large it is. The thick tree cover and lack of manmade lights makes everything dark, perfect cover for a demon ritual. Needing a bigger distraction than an online shoe sale, Buffy doesn’t tell them about Willow and Spike and decides to focus on the problem directly in front of her. . . the problem she can do something about. Giles informs her that Byclof demons have some kind of enhanced night vision, so they don’t need much light anyway.

 

“What’s their ritual for?” Buffy side-whispers from their hiding spot behind some bushes.

 

Giles lets Dawn shows off her Watcher knowledge, “Byclof demons mate as a group, and they use human sacrifice as part of their mating ritual.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Raw human liver is like their aphrodisiac. That and the screaming. They use the liver to. . .”

 

Buffy cuts her off, “A world of ewww. I don’t want to know the rest. Suddenly, I’m glad they can see in the dark, so I have to use my Slayer senses to kill them.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re here to do the killing.”

 

“Me, too. What are you and Giles going to do?” Buffy grips the handle of the scythe, her muscles gearing up.

 

“Free the humans, of course,” Dawn says like it’s obvious.

 

“How will you find them in the dark?”

 

“Probably the screaming will help.”

 

“Do you have weapons?”

 

Dawn clasps something. “Suped-up demon tasers.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Be careful, Buffy,” Giles finally speaks. “Byclof demons are rather large.”

 

“In more ways than one.” Dawn giggles.

 

Buffy rolls her eyes even though neither of them can see her. “Really. Was that a necessary image?”

 

“It was in my head, so I wanted it in yours, too.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Dawnie.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

A decidedly human cry of fear pierces the humid night.

 

“Well, I’m going in.”

 

Giles huffs. “Finally.”

 

Creeping up on the throng of demons, Buffy dives into the fight, disrupting the Byclof’s ritual, which thankfully had not proceeded very far yet. She dances around the demons’ attempts at hitting her, dodging them and swinging her blade.

 

When one extremely big demon grabs her from behind, she uses his bulky body as a fulcrum to land a sharp kick on a second demon who is charging at her. She then head-butts the demon holding her and bounces away when he releases her. Whirling, she arcs the blade through the air, slicing off a limb and then a head.

 

Not for the first time of late, she misses Spike fighting alongside her, and she wonders if he ever will again.

 

Three of the demons are surrounding the humans, protecting their prey and focusing on her. One girl is screaming bloody murder, emitting a high pitched wail. Buffy simultaneously wishes she would shut up and hopes she keeps making noise so that Giles and Dawn can find them.

 

Buffy elbows another demon in the head and then stabs it through the gut with the sharp end of her scythe. He loudly groans as he tumbles to the ground with the mortal wound.

 

From the corner of her eye, Buffy sees the lightning green energy of the tasers and hears their sizzle as they encounter flesh.

 

A third demon clubs her in the head, and stumbling backward but keeping her footing, she loses her weapon, which clatters to the ground. Head quickly clearing, she ducks as another swing comes at her. The demon grunts in frustration and then howls with pain as she knees him in what she hopes in a sensitive spot.

 

The tasers go off again, and the brief light allows her to spot her dropped weapon. She plunges into a roll and takes hold of the scythe again before she even finishes the motion. Hopping to her feet, she kills the third demon as he charges her.

 

Buffy vaguely realizes she’s assuming all the demons are male, so the fourth one that comes at her, she decides is female even though she can’t really tell due to the lack of lighting.

 

As she double kicks the demon in the head, she speaks through gritted teeth, “Don’t know why you would participate in this madness. Whatever happened to some nice candles and a soft, comfy bed?”

The demon roars at her and takes an unquestionably dazed swipe. Buffy neatly brings down the weapon and chops off the slow-moving arm. Demon blood spurts, and she quickly gores the demon in the chest before dancing away to avoid the spray.

 

The remaining three demons are wild with fury, so their movements and attack are sloppy and driven by emotion and likely grief. This allows Buffy to dispatch them with alacrity.

 

The girl has ceased her continual shrieking, but there is enough noise from the humans that Buffy finds the demons that Dawn and Giles tasered unconscious. With ease, Buffy decapitates them.

 

Dawn flicks on a flashlight. Several terrified men and women dressed in athletic gear huddle together and stare at them.

 

“You’re free to go,” Giles informs them.

 

With this permission, the joggers flee the scene without a word or sound other than an occasional whimper.

 

“Ungrateful prats,” he mutters. “Good job, as ever, Buffy.”

 

Brandishing the scythe, she wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and grins at him. “I think I needed that.”

 

“Now, the not so fun part.” Dawn sighs and swings the beam to illuminate some decidedly ugly demon corpses. “Clean up.”

 

Disposal of demon bodies is fortunately or unfortunately a road that leads Buffy back into her head again. Not for the first time, she marvels that Faith was right. Slaying really does leave Buffy hungry and horny, and after Spike left her with that kiss, damn him, her body is raring to go.

 

His kiss was gentle with the promise of something more, reminiscent of how they had been in Sunnydale at the end when their relationship had gone beyond sex and lust and was predicated on a consistent and mutual trust and belief in one another. . . when it was back to the place they’d started from when he first chose to protect Dawn from Glory.

 

Buffy recognizes that by being in this park tonight, she may never know what it’s like to take things further with a human Spike. . . not that she will mind if he chooses to be a vampire again.

Will he love her again if he’s a vampire. . . or if he stays human? Does she still love him?

 

She tries to think back over the last few weeks since she read his book. . . since she found herself in New Orleans hunting down his book signing. . . since she and Dawn told him the truth and spent all that time reminiscing about the past. To Buffy’s astonishment, her heart overtakes her thoughts in a resounding affirmative that yes, she does love him. She loved him then and loves him now.

 

She suddenly wants to be back in the hotel room with Spike and Willow, so she can know what’s happening.

 

“Buffy, pay attention!” Giles snaps.

 

Alarmed, she squints up from the hole she’s digging and into the brilliant light of Giles’s flashlight and realizes that she has accidentally shoveled dirt over his head. “Oops.”

 

* * *

 

Buffy pushes the button for the hotel elevator, but the darn thing moves too slowly and seems to be stopping on multiple floors, so she searches for and finds the staircase. Racing up the unadorned concrete stairs, she makes it to the fourteenth floor with ease. She bursts into the hallway, door banging against the wall, and runs to Giles’s suite. Pulling the slender card out of her back pocket, she keys open the entrance.

 

No one occupies the suite.

 

Her eyes flit over the living area, and she spies a large paper folded in half and propped on the glass end table. She swipes the paper and reads the note written in Willow’s neat handwriting.

 

“Moved to 908. Didn’t want to make a mess in Giles’s room, and Spike offered to pay.”

 

Dropping the sheet, Buffy’s feet move before she can consciously think, slamming the door behind her before she revisits the dimly lit stairs again to floor nine.

 

Although detecting the presence of magic isn’t part of the Slayer repertoire, Buffy senses power and smells something akin to Willow’s herbs. . . herbs that have been set on fire overlaid with a familiar scent she usually associates with burnt sugar and an undercurrent of decay.

 

She finds an extra burst of speed, rounding the corner and almost tripping over the overstuffed chairs across from the elevator. She doesn’t even have to look at numbers because the smell gets stronger as she approaches the room, and she almost swears she can see brief surges of crackling lines of energy rippling through the walls in a faint echo of a completed spell.

 

Buffy skids to a halt in front of suite 908 and notices that unlike all the other doors on this floor, this one is cracked, buttressed open by the metal security guard. She can see a flash of scarlet through the slit, and she shoves the door open with care, immediately squatting next to the body of her friend who has collapsed into a sitting position next to the door, one leg splayed haphazardly outward and one bent to the side. Her head rests on the wall, and her eyes are closed. She’s so still that Buffy’s eyes can’t detect whether her chest is rising and falling.

 

Sweeping Willow’s tangled hair aside, Buffy uses two fingers to feel for her friend’s carotid. Buffy’s so scared that it takes her a few seconds to find the steady dull thrum that pulses beneath her fingers. In a rush, she lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

 

Willow groans as Buffy begins to assess her for injuries. Over the years, Buffy has become more adept than she ever wanted to be at this task, at knowing when and how to allow someone to move, at setting broken bones, at identifying concussions, and at stitching wounds.

 

When Buffy determines that Willow is safe to move away from the room’s entrance, Willow finds her voice, “I’m okay.” Her tone is low and raspy as if she’s been at a rock concert and sung all the songs at the top of her lungs.

 

Buffy slips her arm around the redhead’s waist, and Willow somehow finds her footing as Buffy stands. They hobble across the room until they reach the sofa, and closing her eyes, Willow falls to one side on the cushions and pulls her legs up.

 

“I did it. . . we did it,” Willow mutters, reaching for Buffy’s arm. “We sorta wrecked the room though.” She half-laughs. “And maybe made the electrical system in the building short out for a while, but I made sure no one noticed.”

 

Not sure how she feels about her friend being that powerful, Buffy takes in what her eyes only skimmed over when she entered the suite. The walls are cracked, paint peeling in strips and sagging to the floor in large colorful curls. The carpet, once a neutral beige, is blackened in a large circle that spiderwebs out to all sides of the room.

 

Willow continues, “Spike’s in the bedroom. I helped him there before I. . .” She coughs, her chest rattling. “Before I propped the door. Then, I couldn’t. . . so tired.” She blinks her eyes and tries to sit up again.

 

Buffy puts a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Will. Sleep. I don’t think you have a concussion.”

 

“N-no, I know. Just that. . . Spike, he’s okay.”

 

Buffy’s worry ratchets up despite her friend’s assurance. “He is?”

 

“Go see,” is all Willow can manage before she’s out.

 

Buffy sends a quick text to Giles to let him know where they are. After dropping her off, he and Dawn set out to join Jenn and Liz in Bellaire.

 

She tucks her phone back into her pocket and realizes that she’s been delaying for reasons she thinks are probably too complicated to make sense out of at the moment. She’s terrified of the implications of Spike’s decision and frightened about the impact on her heart whatever he chose.

 

The bedroom is shrouded in shadows, and Buffy finds herself lingering in the doorway, using the dim light from the living area to make out Spike’s unconscious form on the bed. She tries to calm her nerves enough to look for evidence of him breathing, but as with Willow, she can’t, or she doesn’t want to. She’s not sure which is true.

 

Instead, Buffy focuses on his face, the concave of his cheek, his slightly parted lips, and his closed eyes. She never imagined that she would see that face again. Five years ago, she allowed herself to grieve as much as any Slayer has time to grieve in the onslaught of ever present planning and fighting and surviving. She’s always been a pull herself up by her bootstraps and handle the crisis of the moment kind of girl. . . she’s had to be. At this point, there have been more disasters than she can count in the over twelve years she’s been a Slayer.

 

The funny thing is that now that she’s read his book and has him back in her life in some form, she has given herself permission to have the feelings she only partially processed in the past. She is starting to believe that those three weeks in New Orleans are the best thing that ever happened to her and Dawn. They finally had a moment to play and connect and feel and just be. Even without intending it, Spike has a hand in helping them, but after all this time, she’s not surprised.

 

What will it mean if he chose to stay William? What will it mean if he decided to return to being Spike?

 

She supposes she won’t know unless she discovers a way to move her feet.

 

Buffy has no trouble with the quick, facile movements necessary in slaying, but sometimes she feels like she’s a kid who just got the training wheels taken away when it comes to matters of her very human heart.

 

Before she can talk herself out of discovering the truth, Buffy crosses the gulf between them and slowly eases onto the edge of the bed next to Spike’s unmoving body. Though her heart is pounding, she tentatively places the back of her fingers to his cheek. He makes a small noise at her touch, so Buffy barely registers that his skin is cool. . . cooler than a human’s should be.

 

Not sure whether to believe her senses, she finds his forearm and lightly puts her whole hand against his flesh.

 

Oh god. . .

 

A single tear slips over her lashes before she can prevent it, and she suddenly feels exhausted. Then, thinking to hell with it, she curls up on the bed next to him, slipping her arm over his unmoving abdomen, placing her head on his chest where earlier in the evening his heart beat, and inhaling his familiar scent. He emits another low noise, and she swears she feels his arm gently tighten around her as she drifts off to sleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

Spike is watching her when consciousness finds her again. He’s turned on his side, facing her with his arm angled behind his head. She mirrors him, only her hand is tucked under her jaw. Though he isn’t smiling, there’s a kindness and light in his eyes even in the indirect sunlight that’s peeking around the dark curtains hanging over the hotel window.

 

“Hello,” she whispers.

 

He says nothing, only observes her for so long that she wonders if he’s real or a hallucination from some deep broken part of her psyche. His eyes seem to be trying to memorize every millimeter of her face, and when her eyes start following his, the corners of his mouth push up. An ache of longing blossoms in her chest, but her fear loiters in the background, preventing her from making a single motion or uttering another word.

 

Finally, he reaches across the chasm between them, brushing a cool fingertip over her forehead to sweep a stray strand of her hair away from her cheek.

 

“Hello, pet.”

 

Her eyes well up because his two little words tell her everything that her senses are telling her, but she isn’t sure whether to believe. His two little words tell her that the past hurt between them is forgiven, the gulf of time and space is crossed, and he is here with her in the present. His two little words tell her that he is hers. . . he is Spike.

 

Allowing the tears to fall, she asks, “Why?”

 

He reaches for her hand, and sniffling, she gladly gives it to him. “It was an easy choice. Part of me figured that if my spirit was strong enough to overcome something the Powers that Be put in place for me, maybe something out there in the universe was giving me a sign that I needed to be Spike. And when I started remembering, I really missed being a vampire. Think I like the fight a little too much. That came through loud and clear.”

 

Buffy’s voice is small. “Oh.” She knows this is true of him, but she is disappointed because. . .

 

Spike continues, “And the Shanshu. . . it was never really mine even though I gave Angel a great show of wanting it and going after it when we thought it was a possibility. The possibility of being human. . . that was meant to be his.”

 

She blinks back her tears. “Going aft. . .?”

 

Spike interrupts her, “And a big part of me knew that I couldn’t leave you behind. . . not again. . . not after I’d been such a git before and said goodbye when you were so obviously reaching out to connect. I mean what kind of girl jumps on a plane to New Orleans and goes to get beignets with a bloke who looks like someone she used to know?” He reaches out to run his fingers through her hair which has come loose from its braid.

 

Buffy laughs and wraps her arms around him. “Me apparently. And you had reason to go. Dawn and I probably sounded completely crazy.” She adjusts back in his arms, so she can view him. “Wait. What do you remember?”

 

“Red was right. I remember William. . . well, not everything about him. The clearest memories are from the last five years. Before that the William memories are much hazier. The last thing I remember as Spike was the battle in L.A. and well, that one three-headed beast that got lucky.” He shudders.

 

Buffy recalls what Angel told her about how Spike died being torn apart, and she strokes his arm in an effort to reassure him. . . or maybe herself that he is safe and here now. “How many deaths is that for you now?”

 

He mock rolls his eyes upward, mentally counting. “Three?”

 

“You got me beat now. Let’s not make a habit out of it, okay?” She keeps her tone light, but she’s serious.

 

“I’ll do my best, love. The same goes for you.”

 

“Deal.”

 

He nudges his leg against hers. “How are you holding up with all of this?”

 

How can she possibly summarize everything that’s gone on in her brain and heart the past few weeks?

 

She feels her way through it, “It’s been a lot, you know? I thought you were dead. . . thought you were dead in Sunnydale and found out that you were back just in time to find out you died again. Well, I thought you died again. And then, Dawn brings me your book. . . or rather, William’s book, and I don’t know.”

 

Her eyes fill with tears again, and she can’t look him in the eye. “Reading it brought up all these feelings for me that I don’t think I ever fully processed or realized I had. . . about things that happened in Sunnydale, about things with you and with us. Dawn and I spent three weeks in New Orleans talking about experiences that I never thought we’d talk about. It was confusing and hard but also kind of nice all in one.”

 

Spike doesn’t say anything but finds her hand again, squeezing it in reassurance.

 

“And now you’re here. I never expected you to be here. . . with me.”

 

“And now that I am?” He keeps his tone neutral, but Buffy knows better. She knows he’s hiding his anticipatory hurt.

 

More than anything, she wants to tell him how much she still loves him. . . how much she loved him then but didn’t even realize how much until he was gone. But part of her hesitates because it’s been five years, and he didn’t have a choice five years ago about what happened in his life. She wants more than anything for him to have the choice now without feeling like he has to immediately jump into something with her. He deserves a chance to readjust to his timeline, to accept that he’s a vampire again, and to make sense of what he feels for her.

 

Before Buffy can give a coherent response to Spike’s question, Willow races into the room, a panicked look on her face as she holds up her phone. “Jenn just called. She’s coming back. Turns out that the witch was more powerful than they anticipated, and Dawnie, Giles, and Liz are in trouble. Jenn can’t find them.”

 

Their moment of intimacy forgotten, Spike abruptly sits up. Briefly sniffling and swiping her tears away with the back of her hand, Buffy bounds off the bed, heedless of the wave of dizziness she feels from standing too fast.

 

She’s immediately in Slayer mode. “Let’s go.”

 

Willow shakes her head and helplessly holds up both hands. “If the witch is as powerful as Jenn is saying, I need a little more time to recharge.”

 

Buffy crosses her arms. “How much time?”

 

“A few hours. . . tops. I’m sorry, Buffy. The spell for Spike temporarily took it out of me. The sleep helped but. . .”

 

“It’s okay.” She tries not to show her impatience; she knows Willow is doing her best.

 

“If we wait, I can help, too,” Spike interjects.

 

“You sure you’re up to it?”

 

He nods. “Just need some blood and a dark sky.”

 

“And we need a better update from Jenn,” Willow adds.

 

Buffy is antsy and feels helpless but relents. “Right. So we rest, fuel up, and plan.”

 

* * *

 

The nighttime can’t come soon enough for Buffy, not with her sister and Giles on the line. She busies herself with necessary tasks like finding food. Buffy manages to find blood for Spike at the El Tiempo Market on Washington, which is unlike any butcher shop in Sunnydale, mostly because they offer a variety of cooked food as well. Buffy buys several carnitas and chicken tacos and a dozen tamales for Willow and Jenn. She is hoping that the extra food will keep for Giles, Dawn, and Liz when they rescue them.

 

When she arrives back at the hotel with the food, she finds Jenn, Willow, and Spike huddled together in Giles’s suite, strategizing about the rescue mission and relaxing as best they can.

 

Buffy slides the plastic bags full of food onto the table they’re clustered around. “Where are we in the planning?”

 

Jenn nabs one of the bags, pulls out a couple of tacos, and hands a container of blood to Spike as Willow fills Buffy in, “From what I can gather, the witch is from a coven in Port Neches, a small town in southeast Texas, that’s been around for at least a couple of centuries. They worked with the Native American population there to craft and hone nuanced cloaking spells.”

 

Buffy moves into a chair next to Spike’s empty one. “What’s the big deal about that?”

 

“Well, the coven is mostly benevolent, but there have been a few that have strayed from the group and now reside in another small town in the area. They’ve worked with the KKK there for several decades, and it’s not a far stretch to think that one of them might be pulled to working with vampires, particularly if said vampire has a lot of money and influence. This particular town has historically not been the greatest place to live in terms of racial tolerance.”

 

Having grown up in California, Buffy has trouble fathoming what Willow is saying. “I can’t believe the KKK still exists.”

 

Spike returns with a warm mug of blood and casually puts his arm on the back of Buffy’s chair. “I can.” 

 

Buffy leans against his arm so that she can reestablish some of the physical contact they had to forego as Willow resumes, “Anyway, the point is that what Jenn described is a witch with a powerful ability to cloak things. . . people and objects and the ability to do so in the middle of a battle so that you have no idea who or what is where. . .no idea what’s an illusion and what’s reality.”

 

“And that’s how I lost track of the others,” Jenn says after she swallows a bite of the taco she’s inhaling.

 

“Can’t we just do a tracking spell and find them?” Buffy asks as she opens her own taco.

 

“I wish, but no. I already tried that, and well, let’s just say that she’s good. It’s likely that part of the reason is because my powers are down, so I’ll try again before we head out.”

 

“So, we thought that we’d head to the house in Bellaire at nightfall and start there,” Spike adds. “We’ll probably be able to pick up on something once we’re there. . . whether they’re there or whether they’ve been moved.”

 

Buffy marvels that he’s jumped right back into helping out again, not that she should be surprised. It feels surreal but right somehow. “When we get there, Willow, do you think you can take the witch?”

 

Willow nods. “Between all of us, we got this. We just have to figure out a way to knock her unconscious while also taking on this Isaac guy.”

 

“If she’s unconscious. . .”

 

“Her cloaking spell probably may or may not be incapacitated, and if it isn’t, it should be weakened enough that we can locate them.” 

 

“And what are the odds that a bunch of newbie engineering vamps know much about fighting?” Jenn wonders.

 

Spike snorts, no doubt thinking about some long ago memory. “I wouldn’t count them out.”

 

“All right,” Buffy acknowledges, “Jenn, how many vamps did you guys see?”

 

Jenn crumples her greasy taco wrapper. “Well, we surprised them, so they’ll probably have more reinforcements when we go back, but I’d say we ran across fifteen to twenty. Liz and I dusted about eight of them before the witch got involved.”

 

Buffy’s expression is grim. “It’ll be a fight then.”

 

Spike regards her with resolve in his eyes. “And we’ll get the lil Bit back.”

 

* * *

 

The two Slayers, the witch, and the vampire easily find the white house tucked away among other large homes in one of the wealthiest Houston-area cities. The street is eerily quiet in the early evening despite the fact that they are so close to the busy highway. A slight breeze ruffles the leaves of the old majestic oaks, and the air is scented by the white gardenias surrounding the enclosure of their destination. Several houses down, a faded yellow street light provides their only source of luminance.

 

With a wave of a hand, a recharged Willow unravels the magic wards around the grounds, and Buffy easily breaks the locks and removes the heavy stainless steel chains so that the metal gate swings free without sound.

 

Willow closes her eyes in concentration as Spike takes a long inhalation of the night air.

 

Almost simultaneously, they come to a realization, and Willow’s voice resounds in all their minds, “They were here, and something’s not quite right. . . .”

 

Buffy starts forward without hesitation, aiming for the tall white front door. Spike eases in front of her and silently shakes his head.

 

Willow transmits again, “Around the back way. The magic is concentrated on the first floor, and with the wards disarmed, they will know. Follow me.”

 

Buffy nods at her friend, gripping the stake in her hand. Willow casts a temporary cloaking spell of her own and leads them through the darkness of the small front yard and the narrow strip of lawn between the house and the fence.

 

Once they reach the back, Buffy scans the larger enclosure with the pool and towering trees. The vibrant green pool light casts an eerie glow and waving shadows throughout the space. She doesn’t detect any movement, so her gaze turns to the back of the house, and she eyes the second floor balcony and what she thinks are a set of sliding glass doors.

 

Without consulting Willow, Buffy scales the ivy-covered trellis to her target. Willow wisely doesn’t complain, and Buffy hears Spike following her. Dropping silently onto the concrete veranda, she detects a dim light through the heavy curtains. Spike slips down next to her.

 

“Stay down there,” Buffy communicates to Willow and Jenn. “I’m. . . ,” she glances at Spike, “we’re going in.”

 

“Wait.” Spike’s voice echoes in her head as he places a cool hand on her forearm. Buffy almost imperceptibly shivers and hopes that Spike didn’t notice how much she wants his touch to linger. “There are vamps in there.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I can hear maybe four or five of them feeding. . . probably fledglings, which is really strange to hear after five years of being a regular human.”

 

“The engineers.” Buffy can’t help but ask again, “You okay to go in there?”

 

“It’s Dawn we’re after, isn’t it?” He’s resolute. . . as resolute as he was in New Orleans when Dawn let him into the courtyard.

 

“Got your stakes?”

 

His tone in her head sounds irritated as he somehow manages to growl in her mind, “I told you I *got* this.”

 

“Well, you brought up the hearing thing.”

 

“Guys!” Willow’s volume is extra loud. “Now is not the time. Get moving.”

 

“Right. Ready, Spike?” Feeling renewed adrenaline coursing through her body, Buffy’s hand finds the door knob.

 

“Ready, pet.”

 

Buffy jerks on the sliding doors’ handle and finds that it easily gives under her touch. The door softly glides on its track, but she doesn’t hesitate and pushes up the heavy cloak of the drapes. The powerful scent of incense fills her nose as she darts inside with Spike right behind her. With a quick glance based on years of assessing situations for fighting, she decides to take the three vamps on the right who are clustered around and feeding on a human swaying in a daze from a hook on the ceiling. Buffy gives Spike a look in dim candlelight. He nods and quietly pounces on the two vampires grazing on two female victims on the king-sized bed.

 

Dust floats through the air as Buffy stakes one of the engineer vampires before he even realizes she is there. A second hangs back, stunned, dark blood smeared across his chin. He recovers as Buffy stakes the third and manages to throw her stumbling back. His eyes are golden in the flickering light, and he growls. When Buffy regains her equilibrium, she almost laughs because he’s wearing shorts, a polo, and tall white socks with stripes at the top. He even still has a pen sticking out of the shirt pocket.

 

“Big Bang Theory vamps. Who’d a thunk it?” she murmurs as the vampire charges her.

 

As she trades blows with her opponent, she glimpses Spike managing his prey with ease, punching, kicking and dodging as if five years without fighting was nothing. She admires the fluidity of his movements, and her heart tugs as her desire rears its head.

 

When the engineers are dispatched, Spike grins at Buffy like a young boy who just hit his first homerun. Heart hammering from exertion and excitement, Buffy finds herself returning the expression.

 

Willow and Jenn join them before Buffy can comment, and in silent camaraderie, they check all the humans who were being consumed. One of the women on the bed is dead, but a dark-haired woman on the bed and the man who is dangling have barely perceptible pulses. Spike and Buffy release the man from his bindings and ease him onto the blood-soaked velvet bedspread, and Willow casts a quick shield over them.

 

“Downstairs?” Buffy telecasts.

 

Willow’s eyes are shining as she nods.


	9. Chapter Nine

Nothing happens as the small, now uncloaked party descends the stairs, and soon enough, they find themselves in a starkly decorated room. The vivid white walls and furniture reflect the light of candles that top tall iron candle holders arranged in the four corners of the large living area. A flip of the light switch produces no light. The smell of incense is stronger here, and the air is hot and thick with humidity as if the vampires are not running the air conditioning despite the unusually warm spring evening. Somehow this surprises Buffy because even though Taggert is old, he’s working with engineers who could obviously hook him up with some technology like light bulbs.

“Where is everyone?” Buffy telegraphs.

“No idea.” Jenn sounds confused, and she fumbles a bit with her tone and loudness. “There were fifteen or twenty vamps here when we found our way in here before.”

“They may have already left,” Spike notes, moving to Buffy’s left and remaining on alert to his surroundings. “But the magic. . . it lingers.”

“What do you mean?” Buffy asks, fingering the wood grain of her stake.

“Well, you remember Rack, right? Well, the feeling you get when you approach his place. . . it’s simi. . . .”

“Shhh!” Willow interrupts as she hurries into the center of the room and briefly closes her eyes, her face a mask of concentration and annoyance. 

The flames on the candles flicker low, casting the room in shadows and then shooting up brilliant and high. Buffy feels a chill of cold air over her left forearm, and she jerks her gaze in that direction. 

Her voice echoing in the quiet room, Willow says out loud, “Hey, they’re he. . .”

In that same moment, Spike’s body silently jerks seemingly of its own accord as Willow crumples to her knees like the backs of her legs have been hit. Buffy freezes for a moment, not sure who to help first or how because there is no visible threat. . . just as Willow predicted. 

Luckily, Jenn rushes toward Willow and tackles the invisible figure who hit her. Willow staggers to her feet, her eyes and fingertips ablaze with magic and power. 

Buffy focuses on Spike just as his head rockets back from being punched. He growls and vamps, eyes golden and ablaze with anger. Buffy darts forward and blindly grasps for whatever is attacking Spike. Her hand awkwardly finds what feels like a shoulder, and even though her grip isn’t firm, she manages to swing and land a hit. She’s rewarded with a groan of pain as Spike bounces to his feet and kicks in the possible area of legs. 

Willow’s voice rises and sounds almost unearthly as she begins to weave a spell of some sort, and Jenn is whirling and ducking and hitting and kicking to protect Willow from unseen attackers. 

Buffy and Spike find their footing with the concealed foes whose roars and cool flesh identify them as vampires. They also find their rhythm with each other, fighting back to back, covering each other when one receives a blow, dodging and puncturing hearts for one another, and handling the white furniture as shields. Invisible dust settles on everything in a light film, and Buffy is reluctant to open her mouth for fear of getting a mouthful. Plus, she has to really concentrate to detect her enemies. Despite her worry for her sister and Giles, Buffy finds this exhilarating, especially with Spike by her side after so long.

“Good thing I fought those Byclof demons in the dark earlier. Good warm up act,” Buffy communicates to Spike’s mind. 

“How so, pet?” Spike grabs a vampire’s limb and throws him to the ground before head-butting the one who nabs him from behind. 

Buffy senses a blow coming and ducks low to the ground, bending her legs to accommodate the needed depth. “Couldn’t see them. It’s been a while since Giles blindfolded me and threw things at me.”

Spike’s stake lands home, and he looks pleased for a second before kicking his next opponent. “Interesting training choice.”

“He tried.” Buffy swings her leg back to push a vamp back while staking one in front of her.

“Meaning?” Spike dodges a chair that hurtles toward his head.

Buffy catches the chair, flings the furniture back, and is rewarded with a cry from the enemy. “It was way too easy.” 

Buffy takes a second to realize that Spike’s laugh is out loud. His next words are silent ones again, “Sounds about right.”

“You’re not doing so bad yourself.” Buffy admires how Spike takes advantage of the fallen vamp to stake him.

“Feels right.” Spike is knocked against the wall but recovers neatly enough to snag a limb.

Buffy accepts the hurtled opponent and pushes the stake into the vampire’s heart. “Good.”

“Feels right doing this with you.”

“Oh.” Buffy feels the heat rise into her cheeks, and she swipes the back of her hand over the sweat on her forehead.

“You know we can hear everything you’re saying, right?” Jenn’s voice is clear and the volume more modulated than her earlier attempt at mind-speaking.

As Jenn speaks, Willow’s spell starts to work, and the air haltingly starts to shimmer across the room, stops, and then starts again, revealing a whole other section of the room that was previously hidden. Between blows, Buffy glimpses Dawn sitting in a chair with her arms behind her back, mouth gagged. Her sister’s eyes are full of fear but also an underlying fierceness. Giles is bound to the chair beside Dawn, his head lolling to one side. Liz is unconscious on the ground, twin red trails of blood sliding over her slender neck. A tall statuesque woman stands with her hands raised facing the hole in the glamour with a strained look of horror on her face. Blue currents of energy sizzle over her hands as she tries to reinstate her barrier. 

With a soft cry, Jenn suddenly crashes to the ground and remains unmoving. Before Buffy or Spike can help Willow, someone or something hits her on the back of the head, and she also slips into the land of unconsciousness. 

Buffy rushes forward to crouch and check on her friends and receives a hard blow to her jaw that sends her sailing backward. Although her vision briefly fills with yellow sparks of light, she notices the other witch smiling as she begins to regain power and her shield begins to knit back together. 

Buffy finds her real voice as she scrambles to her feet, “Spike! Go!”

His whole body tense as he stands between Buffy and Dawn, Spike hesitates for only a second before he darts across the room to dive through the closing magical screen. He drops into a roll, and Buffy thinks she glimpses Dawn rising from her chair before the wall is back in place. 

Another crushing blow lands on her lower back, and she calls out in pain and falls, landing on all fours, her fingers digging into the plush white carpet. Closing her eyes, she tries to regroup her senses.

“Let me guess. Isaac Taggert?” Buffy’s tone belies the churning anxiety in her stomach. Too many people that she cares about are being hurt in this skirmish.

There’s no reply, but Buffy senses the coming hit this time, and she spins away, coming to a standing ready position. She barely blocks a flurry of extremely well-placed kicks and punches, which only confirms her conclusion about her attacker’s identity. Somewhere in the fray, she loses her stake to the shadows. This vampire has been fighting for a long time and is extremely powerful. She only wishes he would give her something. . . anything to give her an “in” as to what his weakness is.

So she does what she does best: she banters. “You know you really should talk to someone about modern technology. I mean, I know you’re really old, but we do have this little thing called air conditioning. It’s hot in here.”

Silence is the only response, but she intuits something to her right and lashes out, landing one decent hit to the vampire’s chest. She is pleased with the sound of a body hitting the floor and approaches the fallen creature.

“And candles? Really?” She scoops up one of the metal candle holders with the large candle attached. “You’re working with engineers from NASA and a bit of lit wax is all you can manage? This does not bode well for your plans.” 

Buffy feels a slight warm breeze in the air as Taggert makes a move, and she swings the flame at him. She misses but holds the candle up before it can snuff out. A bead of sweat drips down the back of her neck, and she jumps up just as he tries to sweep her off her feet. 

She elbows back but blunders again, and he tries to strike the iron out of her hand. She holds fast and swings her weapon around only to find herself shoved up against the wall with such force that she feels the drywall cave in a little. 

A cold arm presses hard into her throat, and Buffy squirms in vain, feeling her lungs screaming for oxygen to come in and carbon dioxide to escape. As her brain tries to prioritize bodily functions, her grip loosens. The metal pole thuds to the carpet, and the fibers ignite. The pressure on her windpipe suddenly lessens, and she brings up her legs and throws him back. 

Buffy coughs and gasps, squinting into the growing yellow flames and past the thickening smoke. Her eyes stinging, she glimpses a slender form glaring at her through the haze, his ancient eyes golden full of hate. There’s a flicker and sizzling sound, and then, he disappears. Somehow, Buffy knows that he is gone-gone and not just glamoured-gone. 

Willow’s weak voice is wispy over the sound of the fire, but her words must carry weight because in a rush of sound like wind sweeping around tall buildings, the heat, smoke, and blaze are snuffed out. Buffy kneels next to her friend and inspects her. Propped up on one elbow, the redhead smiles to indicate she’s okay. She nods and gazes over Buffy’s shoulder.

Buffy turns to discover that Dawn is helping a limping, dazed-looking Giles, and with a grim expression and his shirt shredded, Spike is dragging forward an unhappy looking witch. 

* * *

Buffy stares at her phone’s tiny screen. All she has to do is thumb through her address book and push dial, but she would much rather join Spike and Dawn in the adjacent room of Giles’s hotel suite as they catch up with one another. Dawn’s joy at Spike’s decision to return to himself makes her heart warm, and Buffy honestly wants to bask in their reunion and the relief that everyone she cares about is unharmed for the moment. 

The scent of lavender trails Willow as she exits the bathroom dressed in pajamas. “Hey. Shower’s yours. I think I even saved you some hot water, which is a miracle given how many of us have come through there in the last hour and a half. I can’t believe it took Giles that long to realize we needed a second suite.” She notices Buffy’s look of consternation. “Watcha doin’?”

Buffy lowers the phone and surveys her friend whose wet dark red hair drips water onto her shoulders. “Trying to make that phone call to Angel.”

“Ah. What’s stopping you? I mean, I can kinda guess, but. . .” Willow trails off to allow her friend to fill in the blanks.

“I know I have to call him to tell him we’re coming tomorrow morning because Taggert somehow used some sort of spell to beam himself to London. . .”

“He teleported like we will tomorrow,” Willow supplies, “even though I hate teleporting.”

“We don’t even know for sure if he really went there.” Buffy gestures in a direction, not really sure if she’s pointing in the direction of England. “I mean, we’re trusting Mary who isn’t exactly on our most trustworthy list.” 

Mary the witch is tied up in the adjoining suite, her powers magically bound for now. Liz, Jenn, and Giles as well as Willow are set to camp out in the suite with her until they decide what to do with her. Buffy is grateful for the time with just Spike and Dawn, too. 

Willow raises both eyebrows. “I think she was frightened enough to tell the truth what with you and me and Spike and Dawn interrogating her and Giles glaring in the background.”

Buffy grins. “True.”

“And somehow Spike knows she’s telling the truth…something about reading people’s heart rate, facial expressions, and breathing. Who knew enhanced vampire senses could be like lie detector tests?” 

“He’s pretty darn good. Speaking of Spike. . . how am I going to explain his existence to Angel? I mean, he told me to let Spike live his life. . . his human life, and here I’ve. . . we’ve gone and. . .”

The corner of Willow’s mouth goes up. “Done the exact opposite?” 

“Well, yeah.” Buffy’s shoulders sag.

“You tell the truth? I mean, Spike’s situation was deteriorating anyway. . . even without your interference. In fact, it was a good thing that you went after him. Just think where he’d be. . . where the world would be if you hadn’t.” 

“And if you weren’t a powerful witch who could help him.” Buffy frowns and resists the urge to throw the phone across the room like a toddler. “Muah. Why does it have to be so complicated?” 

“That’s life? I still haven’t figured out how to tell my parents I’m getting married next month. . . to someone they’ve never met.” Willow sighs. 

Buffy smiles. Sheila Rosenberg will never approve of Meagan, the laid back witch from Georgia who didn’t finish college, but Willow loves her. She has Tara’s gentle but strong spirit and completely adores Willow. Plus, she has a nice Southern drawl that Buffy supposes people think is kind of sexy although Buffy is rediscovering that she prefers the British kind. “You want me to be with you when you call them? You know. . . like for moral support?”

Willow shakes her head. “Nah. I got it. But I could probably use some ice cream and Indian movie time after.” 

“Deal.” 

Willow plucks the cell phone from Buffy’s hand and dials Angel’s number. “Go for it. I’ll be resting up for the big teleportation, but I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you. For this but also for Spike.” Buffy tries to convey just how grateful she is but recognizes that words aren’t enough.

“Anytime.”


	10. Chapter Ten

“Buffy. I’ve been hoping you’d call.” Angel’s tone is decidedly neutral and definitely not hopeful.

“Hey. Sorry to just disappear like that after calling you out of the blue before.” Buffy is pleased with her start at the conversation. 

“You’d better be. What happened?” So his nonchalant tone is rapidly draining away.

“W-what do you mean, what happened?”

“With William Abbott? I read that he *died.*”

“Died?” Oh, wait. Buffy vaguely remembers Willow saying something about killing off William Abbott when she brought Spike’s self to the forefront. “Oh, he did?”

“He did. What’s going on? Did you have something to do with it? His obituary said he had a heart attack.”

Buffy bites the bullet or in her case, the stake. “Well, he sorta did. . . die, that is.”

“What do you mean he ‘sorta did’?” 

“It’s complicated,” Buffy finds herself repeating as she stares at the ceiling. She muses that there is something pink and sticky-looking adhering to the popcorn texture. 

“What else is new? The truth, Buffy. Please.” Angel sounds angry, but Buffy’s realizing there’s something else behind the more apparent emotion. . . grief. . . fear?

Distraction not working, she takes a deep breath and launches into her tale, “Spike. . . well, the reason he wrote that book about Sunnydale was because his Spike-ness was bleeding through into William’s life. He was having dreams about the past. Well, he didn’t know it was his past, and he broke up with his girlfriend. . . you know, the one the Powers set him up with? And when I went to New Orleans to his book signing, he recognized me, which freaked me out. He ended up witnessing me slay some vampires. Then, Dawn decided that we should tell him the truth, which makes total sense now that I think about it given who she is and how Spike helped her figure out she was the Key. He didn’t stay with us after we told him the truth, but then, he kept having trouble, so he tried to fly to meet us in Houston where he met up with Willow on the way, which was fortuitous because she was the only one. . . well, at least the only one of us. . . who could have helped with the timeline.” She has to take another breath at this point, so she pauses.

Angel is silent for what feels like an eternity to Buffy. She decides that maybe the silence-for-extended-periods is a vampire thing that might very well drive her crazy. Then, he says, “So you did everything I told you *not* to do.”

No use denying it. “Pretty much.” She adds, “Did I mention that if Willow didn’t fix his timeline, the world might have ended? Apocalypse 152 and all.” 

Angel sounds more thoughtful now, “I wonder if this. . . slippage had anything to do with me signing away the Shanshu prophecy.”

“Maybe? I don’t know much about the prophecy other than what Spike mentioned.”

“So. . . he’s not dead?”

“N-no, he’s not. Willow gave him the choice. . . there was a whole hurricane-levee-New Orleans metaphor, which made sense to us but would probably just be confusing to an outsider and. . .”

Angel interrupts, “Buffy. The short version.”

She swallows. “Willow gave him the choice, and he chose to be Spike again.”

“As in a vampire?” His tone is incredulous.

“Yes.”

“A vampire with a soul?” 

“Yes.”

“And he remembers everything?”

Buffy nods even though Angel can’t see her over the phone line. “Uh huh. Even the stuff about William.”

“What makes Willow think this will hold? It’s magic again, and Willow’s not as powerful as the Powers.” Buffy tries to remind herself that his rapid-fire questions are out of concern.

“She said it will hold because he made the choice this time. . . because it wasn’t forced on him like being human.” 

“And you’re sure he didn’t want to stay human?” 

Despite what he said earlier, Buffy still isn’t sure why he chose to become Spike again. . . either that or she doesn’t believe it, but she can’t admit that to Angel of all people. “I’m sure.”

Angel emits a soft sigh, a sigh that sounds to Buffy like a combination of resignation and relief. Then, he says, “I read the book.”

“The book?” Buffy knows which book, but she wants to hear what he has to say.

“William Abbott’s latest.”

“Oh.” Buffy lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, her back aching. Her mind skips back over all the passages in which William described the relationship between Spike and her. . . passages that Angel, her ex-boyfriend-first-love, has now read.

“I never knew all those details about what happened in Sunnydale. . . not that I deserved to know. I mean, I was out of your life for the most part, and except for bringing you the medallion, well. . . I didn’t really know.” 

Buffy feels her eyes well with tears. “Know what?”

Angel’s voice is so gentle that the tears escape over Buffy’s cheeks. “How much Spike loved you. . . how strong your connection was even when you told me that he was in your heart.”

Somehow, she finds herself apologizing, “I’m sorry. I mean, I didn’t even know. . . not really until. . . well, until recently. But you know me, I’m always the last to know what’s in my own heart.”

He chuckles. “I remember.” 

Toeing the carpet with her boot, Buffy smiles a little. “I’m surprised Spike didn’t tell you. He would be one to brag about it.”

“You’d think so, but he didn’t. . . not about how he really felt. . . about how you felt in return.”

Buffy has the urge to go to Spike and hold him close again. “Thank you for telling me that.” 

“Let me talk with him. He’s there with you, right?” Angel sounds urgent and eager.

“Sure. . . of course, you can. But first, there’s something else you should know.”

“What is it?”

Buffy heads into the bathroom to grab a tissue to wipe her cheeks. “Another long story. There’s an old vampire who teleported to your neck of the world.”

“A threat?” 

“What other kind is there?” Her voice echoes slightly in the still warm bathroom.

Angel laughs again, and Buffy is thankful that they’re still okay with one another. “It never ends, does it?”

“Not the good fight.”

* * *

“What do you think they’re talking about?” 

Buffy is freshly showered and curled up on the plush sofa with her sister. She can hear Spike talking to Angel but can’t distinguish a word. She briefly wishes that being a Slayer came with other things besides extra strength like heightened hearing. “No idea. Family stuff?”

Dawn removes her gaze from the doorway to the bedroom, leans her head on Buffy’s shoulder, and closes her eyes. “Sometimes I forget that they’re family.” She makes a little amused sound. “Like us.”

Buffy strokes her sister’s hair, relishing the softness of the long dark strands. For some strange reason, she misses their mom. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Like I would leave you there. Besides, you handled yourself pretty well, I’d say.”

Dawn preens a little without breaking contact with Buffy. “Well, I did figure out how to free myself from that rope they tied me up with. And said rope was tied by a vampire and magically tightened by a spell.”

“And you helped Spike.”

“I did. We got that witch good.” 

“How was your talk with Spike?” Buffy pauses. “Not that I want to know everything you talked about.”

Playing with the ends of her hair, Dawn ignores Buffy’s proviso, “I’m not surprised he chose to be himself again.”

“What do you mean?”

Dawn bites her lip before responding, “I mean, who wouldn’t want to be their authentic self? Being a fake you, no matter how awesome like with money or success, is still. . . well, fake. . . and unsettling. Spike is nothing if not himself. I can’t even fathom him choosing to be William.” 

Buffy shifts so that Dawn has to raise her head. “Is that how you feel?”

“What do *you* mean?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly given a choice like Spike. You were made by monks, and our timeline was altered to include you. Do you find being. . . *this* you unsettling?” 

Dawn is faster to respond than Buffy anticipated, “No. It’s different for me, I think.”

Buffy worriedly studies her sister’s face. “How so?”

“Well, yeah, initially, it upset me, and I didn’t feel real or right. I was mad at everyone for not being honest with me. Being a teenager’s hard enough identity wise without discovering something big like that.” 

Buffy completely understands this, but she doesn’t want to take the conversation that direction. “But?”

“I was an ancient ball of destructive energy before. I don’t think I had much of a life. . . not that I remember anyway. Plus, I’m technically made out of a combination of that energy and you, so that adds this whole other layer.” Dawn reaches for her sister’s hand and clasps it. “Like you said, we’re sisters. . . we share Summers’ blood. I have relationships with you and everyone, and we’ve been through a lot.”

“William had a life and relationships in New York.”

“But he had a lot longer life and stronger relationships before he was William. I didn’t.”

Buffy reaches over to hug Dawn. “I’m glad you’re my sister, and I’m really proud of you, Miss Watcher-in-Training.”

She blushes. “Thanks.” Then, she sighs. “I’m dreading going back to Watcher-in-training desk instruction. The break slash field training has been nice.”

“Especially because we got a sorta vacation in there.”

“Yeah! I liked New Orleans.”

“Me, too. The food. . . oh my god, the food.” Buffy’s stomach growls, and she’s tempted to go grab a leftover tamale out of the refrigerator but resists for now. The food is probably picked over anyway by everyone else.

Dawn stares off with a dreamy expression. “Yeah. We have to go back someday.” 

“What do you think the Council will do about William’s book?”

“The nonfiction one?”

“Yeah.” Buffy starts to braid her wet hair. 

Dawn shrugs. “What they do anytime they discover something that’s published that is a little too real for public consumption: gather all the copies up and burn them.”

Buffy stops mid-braiding. “They really do that? Like Fahrenheit 451?” 

Dawn rolls her eyes. “Well, sorta. They destroy all the copies but one, which they store in hard copy format but which they also scan into a computer file to be stored on a computer that’s not connected to any network.”

“They use computers to store books now?” Buffy smiles and finishes her work on her hair. “They really need to have a talk with Giles. . . get him up to speed.” 

Dawn giggles. “I guess I could try.” Dawn grabs and hugs one of the pillows on the sofa.

“What about the copies that are out there on computers? Like William’s computer or the publisher’s?” Buffy suddenly thinks of something else, “And websites like Amazon?”

“That’s when they use magic to erase hard drives and code on websites. They also do a simple mind tweak on the people who’ve read it.”

“Like magical hackers.” 

“Uh huh.” Dawn seems pleased to be giving her big sister information.

“Wow.” Buffy’s mind boggles at the dangerous implications of this. She also thinks about Willow and how she doesn’t use magic like that anymore. She wonders if her friend knows about the existence of said hackers.

“They have a code of ethics and are specially training just for that type of work.”

“Well, as long as they have that code.” Buffy can’t help the sarcasm. She’s had enough experience with unethical Watcher practices.

“It’s a new order, Buffy. Quentin and his era are over. We’re redoing all the rules.”

“As long as my little sister’s in there keeping an eye on things.”

“At your service.” Dawn gives a little salute before flopping back. “This sofa should be in our apartment in Rome. It’s so comfy.”

“This sofa wouldn’t fit in our apartment in Rome.” Buffy decides to enjoy the comfort and emulates her sister. After several seconds of companionable silence, she asks, “So have you forgiven Spike?”

“Mmmm? What do you mean?”

“For a long time ago?” Buffy doesn’t want to spell it out for her, so she is relieved at what Dawn says next.

“Oh, yes. I have.”

Buffy fingers the ridged seam of the cushion underneath her. “When?”

“When you forgave him. Years ago. In Sunnydale.”

Buffy thinks back as she has so many times of late. “I guess that makes sense.”

“He and I. . . we never really talked about it, but I did. He’s family, you know? Family forgives. You taught me that.” Dawn’s voice sounds heavy with the weight of beckoning sleep.

“Oh.” Buffy is surprised. 

“Are you glad he’s Spike again?”

Buffy hesitates but finally admits, “I am.” A weight lifts off her shoulders to acknowledge with words what her heart has been telegraphing at her. . . with billboards and flashing lights. 

“Me, too. I missed him.” Dawn gives in to a mouth-wide-open kind of yawn. “Do you think Angel has a chance at being human now?”

Buffy accepts the contagious yawn and feels her eyelids getting heavier than she expected. “I don’t know if it’s a one-time thing or. . . I don’t know how Angel would feel about it. He says he doesn’t know, but who knows?” 

“Are you and Spike going to get. . . be back together?”

“Now that I definitely don’t know the answer to.”

Dawn’s voice is so low that Buffy almost doesn’t hear her words. “Well, just so you know. I’m okay with it.” 

Buffy smiles and whispers, “Thanks.”

* * *

Buffy startles awake at a small noise and opens her eyes a slit to see Spike placing a plush blanket around her sister’s shoulders. In the dim lamp light from the bedroom, she watches him without saying a word, studying each and every movement and drinking in all the details of his presence. She still can’t believe he’s so close. . . that he’s alive, and she cherishes the moment, marking it in her mind and vowing to remember it even ten or twenty years from now. She loves that he cares so much for her sister. 

As soon as he’s done with tucking in Dawn, who doesn’t even stir, Spike turns to Buffy, eyes lighting as he realizes she’s not asleep. Without uttering a word, he keeps his blue eyes fastened on her green ones. He kneels next to her. His eyes flick to her aching neck which she knows is covered in purple and indigo bruises from being choked. With reverence and concern, he leans over and presses his lips over the wounds. Her body sings at his touch, and closing her eyes, she lets out a soft breath. 

When Spike pulls back, a feeling of deep sadness sweeps over her at the loss of his nearness. Her emotion must be shining in her face because his expression shifts to one of certainty and confidence. Without asking permission, his arms slide between the sofa cushion and under her waist and legs, and he lifts her smoothly off the sofa. She sinks into his embrace and circles her arms around his cool neck as he carries her into the dimly lit bedroom and slips under the covers with her. She rolls onto her side, and he pushes up against her, holding her tight. Her muscles unwind and relax as she snuggles against him, his chest solid against her back. She feels like she has come home. 

He picks up her left hand and pushes her fingers up so that he can study her palm. He runs his thumb over the small, almost invisible scar. . . the scar from the flames at the joining of their hands in the bowels of Sunnydale. . . a scar that she can’t believe is still there after so many years. She shivers as she did in the bookstore in New Orleans. 

Then, his voice low, he speaks, “I don’t think I knew for sure there was something about you until I saw this.” Buffy remains quiet and lets him continue, “You see,” he holds up his right palm so that she can see the matching pink streak where their flesh melded together from the heat of his soul in Sunnydale, “I had this even when I was William, and I always wondered what it was. It was obviously not a birthmark, and none of William’s memories was of a hand injury. I even asked my mum a long time ago. . . well, my fake mum, and she had no idea why it appeared on my hand five years ago. Then, when I saw your scar. . . I knew that we had a connection. Something just slid into place, and it all made sense. It’s stupid, I know, but. . .”

Buffy finds her voice to reassure him, “It’s not stupid. It was you. . . Spike coming out, overshadowing the William.”

“Probably.” He kisses the back of her head, his lips lingering and moving over her hair as he whispers, “Listen, Buffy, I know that it’s sudden, and you probably haven’t had a chance to process everything. You have your own life to figure out like you said, and I understand that you need time to decide if what you feel is a product of the past or something that’s. . .”

Pushing the back of her hand into his palm, Buffy interrupts him, “I want you to have that time, too. I mean, you probably need time to adj. . .”

“I’ve had so much time. I don’t need ti. . .”

Buffy suddenly shifts around to face him, pushes her thigh between his legs and caresses his cheek, her eyes never leaving his in the lamplight. She tells her brain to take a hike and follows her heart, something she hasn’t let herself do in a long time. . . not since she sacrificed herself for Dawn and the world and not since that brief moment in the collapsing cavern under Sunnydale when Spike was making that same sacrifice for her. “I love you. . . I loved you then and I love you now.” 

Before he can respond, she kisses him hard on the mouth, and he follows suit, his lips firmly gliding over hers, matching her move for move. She pushes her tongue into his mouth, and he groans before deepening the kiss on his end. She loses herself in him until she is left gasping for air. 

As he lets her breathe, he smiles with reverent tenderness at her. Bringing her hand to the small of her back, he gently pulls her forward so that she can feel how much he wants her, but he doesn’t act on his desire because he wants her. . . no, needs her to hear what he has to say. “I love you, too, pet. More than you know.”

She pushes her face into this chest and inhales his familiar, clean scent. “And you definitely believe me?”

He strokes her hair. “I do. . . I did then. Remember what I told you in New Orleans?”

She nods. “You’re not allowed to do that again.”

He laughs softly because he knows the answer to his question, but he asks it anyway, “Do what again?”

She gives him a little shove to let him know that it’s not funny. “Tell me that you don’t believe me when I say that I love you to get me to do something.”

“I think I can do that. Not making any promises though because it depends on the situation. I would do it again to save your life.” She glares up at him with her best Slayer scowl, and he nuzzles her cheek, which almost pisses her off but doesn’t. “Okay, love, I won’t.”

“Good.” 

This time he initiates the kiss, and time passes without acknowledgment until exhausted, they fall asleep wrapped in each others’ arms.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

 

“Look at that over there,” Buffy brushes her fingertips over Spike’s forearm around her waist and whispers back toward him over the sounds of the jazz music at the Blue Nile.

 

Spike pulls her closer against his midsection in the booth they’re sharing and doesn’t stop bobbing his head with the fast-paced notes. “At what, love?”

 

Buffy is glad she doesn’t have to shout over the band. Put one check mark in the pro column for vampire hearing. “Over there,” she repeats. “Can’t you see?”

 

Sighing, Spike dips his head closer to her ear, so she can hear, “I saw the pair of them, pet. I was trying to ignore the situation so as to relax and enjoy the music with the woman I love.”

 

Buffy shivers with desire at his breath over her ear but doesn’t let his distraction hinder her and sits up a bit, almost elbowing Spike in the stomach. “But we can’t just ignore it. You should know that by now.”

 

He shifts with her. “Hey. It’s not like I would ignore it forever. . . just for now. We’re in New Orleans for fun this time, and I have every intention of having a different experience with you.”

 

The couple sitting next to them give them a shut-up-I’m-enjoying-the-music-and-you’re-ruining-it look, and while Buffy does her best to seem embarrassed, Spike just ignores them, too. They glare harder at him.

 

Luckily, a trumpet solo blasts loudly across the night club to recapture their attention, and Buffy notices the vampire pair following a few staggering party goers out into the wide-open night on Frenchman Street. She’s on her feet in an instant, unfurling from Spike’s reluctant arms and grabbing him by the hand. He takes a swig from his beer and sets it aside, sighing again but more out of amusement than anything. He follows her lead through the dim establishment as she excuses herself through the small engrossed crowd and haze of cigarette smoke to the door.

 

Buffy pushes through the outside humidity that immediately coats her skin and hair, hardly noticing the contrast of the quiet on the street with the hum of the music inside because the energy of the hunt is fueling her. Her Slayer instincts kick into gear, and she’s glad she only let herself have one cocktail. She catches a glimpse of the target vampires as two inebriated humans head toward the much less populated Elysian Fields Avenue and undoubtedly their car without a care in the world.

 

These vamps are well disguised, dressed like a normal young couple who frequents the music scene, his chin coated with a well-groomed stubble and hair in a short ponytail and her lithe form clothed in a flowing bohemian dress and her feet clad in gladiator sandals. Buffy fondly recalls when vamps used to hold onto the ways of their past. . . like the vampire who has her heart. 

 

She turns her head to make sure he's behind her and grins. “Come on!” Buffy slips a stake into his palm, lightly kisses Spike on the lips, and virtually skips toward the fight.

 

Happy to see Buffy happy and more eager for a fight seeing that she is exuberant, Spike continues to go with her, his heart lighter than he remembers it being in a long time. He makes a silent vow not to take the feeling for granted.

 

Buffy somehow manages to contain herself until they’re out of view of the loitering locals and the shadows are longer and deeper. Sure enough, the potential victims are oblivious to their level of danger as the male half of the couple tries to open the car door for his date while she leans heavily on the bumper, looking every bit like she might throw up at any moment. One of the vampires growls as he lunges out of the dark to grab the chivalrous fellow. 

 

Before the poor drunk guy can even react to the fangs almost plunging into his neck, Buffy's voice calls out, "Ahem." The vampire's eyes flash gold as they find the Slayer's. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

 

Smirking, Spike hangs back a bit, letting his girl have her moment. 

 

The vampire lets go of his target, his fangs retracting into his mouth, leaving him looking decidedly human. "You! You're back in town?!"

 

Buffy raises both eyebrows in surprise. She hadn't realized that her brief sojourn in the Crescent City made such an impression in the local vampire culture. "Uh huh. Looks like." She meanders a little closer, crossing her arms.

 

The female vampire steps into view. "And she brought her own vampire with her." She sounds really confused and more than a little irritated.

 

"What the hell?" The pony-tailed vamp squints at Spike in the distance behind me. "What're you doing?!"

 

Spike moves to Buffy's side. "Not that it’s any of your business, mate, but I'm trying to take a vacation with my lady."

 

"That's just beyond wrong." The female vampire shakes her head so that her long braids move over her shoulders as if they agree with her disbelief. 

 

Buffy frowns. "No, wrong is what you're about to do to that couple who's just out for a good time." She smiles at Spike and says brightly, "Like us."

 

Spike notices movement behind the vampire couple. "Um, love."

 

"Yep, I see them." Buffy is excited by the prospect of an unknown number extra vampires to fight. "It wouldn't be a vacation with you without a little danger, and hey, at least we can see them this time. Plus, they aren’t nearly as smart as that Taggert guy. Standard, run-of-the-mill vampires…what a concept!”

 

“Hey!” the male vamp protests.

 

Buffy’s eyes flick to Spike’s. “Ready?"

 

Spike shifts into his own vampire visage. "Always."

 

The skirmish with the vampires begins in earnest, and Buffy and Spike slip into their normal ease with one another, dancing around one another, improvising, and picking up where the other leaves off. This is the first fight with just the two of them, and Buffy's whole body vibrates with the pleasure of having him by her side, having this time with just the two of them. She almost doesn't want the fray to end, but Spike dusts the last vampire who shoved her to the ground. 

 

She looks up at her vampire, and they grin with satsifaction at one another. Buffy briefly turns her head to pull her now damp hair into a messy bun. She accepts Spike's hand of assistance and hops to her feet, brushing the dust of the last vampire off her clothes and sliding her stake back into hiding. 

 

Spike nods his head toward the drunken couple. The young woman appears to be half asleep or semi-conscious on top of the trunk, and her boyfriend is staring at them with bewilderment and a little fear. The vampires were luckily so focused on Buffy and Spike that they forgot about their snack. "What'll we do about them, love?"

 

Buffy glances over her shoulder. "Cab them? There are lots of cabs around the Quarter."

 

"Cabbing them seems efficient." 

 

She pulls out her cell phone, searches for a taxi service, and calls. Within a few minutes, their rescued couple is safely ensconced in the bowels of a demon-free yellow car and headed home. 

 

As the cab pulls away, Buffy becomes cognizant of just how sweaty and hot she is. She wrinkles her nose. "I need a shower." Then, she remembers how much Spike was enjoying the music. "Should we go back to the Blue Nile?” 

 

"Not if you don't want to. Don't care what we do." He smiles at how disheveled she looks. He honestly doesn't care if she is stinky or grumpy or wants to do cartwheels down Bourbon Street as long as he's with her. He doesn't say this out loud though because he doesn't want her to have permission to always be grumpy; he likes how kind she is to him now. . . appreciates how hard she's trying to treat him well. 

 

"I thought you wanted me to hear Kermit Ruffins." 

 

"I did, but since we accomplished what we came here to do, I really just want to relax and be with you before we go back to. . ."

 

"Don't say it! We're not talking about ‘w’ word. I'm glad we got the other thing with Isaac out of the way, and I don't want to think about what we have to do after we leave here. All my vacations lately have sucked. . . well, not completely, but they certainly haven’t been the escape from reality a vacation is supposed to be." Buffy doesn't want to talk about how they went back to Crescent City Books to make sure William’s copies of Chosen were all gone and that no one recognized him. They did their duty; she texted Dawn that everything was all clear. Dawn told them to have fun and forget about the world for a little while, which she is determined to do. 

 

"I think I can handle that, pet. So where do you want to go?"

 

Buffy starts to amble back toward Frenchman Street, and her stomach growls. "I'm thinking food now, shower later. If we shower and go out, I'm just gonna get all sticky again; it's so humid. How is it so humid here?" 

 

“New Orleans is basically in the middle of a swamp, pet.” Spike eases his hand around hers. "How do you feel about oysters?" 

 

Buffy grimaces. "Dawn dragged me to Acme a lot when we were waitin. . . here." She laces her fingers through his. 

 

"Or a re-do on the beignets?"

 

She bounces. "With the mountains of sugar?" She could definitely use a re-do on the way that evening ended. 

 

"With the mountains of sugar."

 

"You really do know the way to a Slayer's heart."

 

Spike can't help but laugh, which melts Buffy’s heart; she’s glad it’s Spike’s laugh and not William’s. "In what way, love?"

 

"The fight, the food, and the. . ." She moves both eyebrows up and down at him, and he can't help but pull her close and plant a gentle kiss in the soft place between her jaw and her neck before they head through the dark streets toward the quiet evening bustle of Jackson Square. 

 

This time, Buffy chooses a different table at Café du Monde and moves her metal chair close to Spike's, swinging her legs over his lap. He lazily strokes her calf as he looks over the menu on the side of the napkin box. A breeze snakes its way through the open-air cafe, and Buffy leans her head back to catch the cool air. 

 

"Same order?" Spike asks. 

 

She covers his hand with one of hers and props her head up on the table with the other, smiling at him. "Yes, please." 

 

After the waitress comes and goes and returns with their frozen cafe au laits, Buffy fingers the edge of the lid on her beverage and says, "I love you, you know?" She hasn’t said it since that night in Houston, and somehow being in this café with him makes her feel sad about all the times she hurt his heart in the past . . .makes her want to remind him.

 

Spike can't hear this enough, and it's still new enough that he almost can't believe it, but then, he reminds himself that he promised her that he would, so he does. "I know." He also can't believe that he can say his next words without recrimination, "I love you, too." 

 

Her eyes well with tears before she can stop them. She tries to blink them away because she doesn't want to ruin their time together, but what she doesn't realize is that she can't. Spike reaches over as one tear slides past her will. "Cry as much as you need to, love. I'm not going anywhere. If the Powers couldn't stop me, nothing can, nothing will." 

 

She laughs despite herself, and she sniffles. How does he know exactly what she needs to hear even before she knows it herself? "I hope you know I'm not going anywhere either." She suddenly finds that she also needs to meet his unwavering gaze and say, "You're it for me. You're my only. I can't imagine being with anyone else. . . if you’ll have me when I’m old and grey." 

 

Spike wants more than anything to carry her back to the their rented condo and make love to her, but the beignets arrive, steaming hot and sugary. He lifts the top one and offers her a bite, which she gratefully accepts. 

 

They don't say much more as they eat the rest of the beignets together, people watch some, and gaze at one another. Once their feast is done, they wander away from the café and leisurely walk back to their condo. . . the same condo that Buffy rented before, only the first floor this time because it's darker during the daytime with enough sunlight to illuminate the room but not enough to cause Spike to burst into flames. . . the best of both worlds.

 

Buffy heads into the shower first. Spike finds himself leaning against the sink in the tiny kitchenette to give her some time to clean up, but then, he wonders what the hell he’s doing and joins her in the shower. He approaches her slowly and with questions in his eyes, not making any moves because of where they are. She appears relieved when he joins her, and he brushes her hands away from her hair and massages the shampoo into her scalp with just enough pressure that she closes her eyes and a tiny moan escapes her lips. She is deliberate and tender with him, too, to reassure him that she is okay, and once they are both clean, she pulls him from the bathroom onto the bed where they make love.

 

When they are both sated, Buffy curls up next to him and lays her head on his chest. Spike’s fingers lightly trail over her hip, and she emits a contented sigh.

 

She’s almost asleep when he murmurs, “You sure there’s room in your apartment for me?”

 

She shoves him a little. “What kind of question is that?”

 

“Well, I mean, we haven’t exactly talked about the logistics of. . . and the Bit told me that you share a closet.”

 

“You won’t have to stay in the closet.” She thinks back to how he lived in Xander’s closet for a while. “And hey, if we want an extra bedroom, we can always use some of the money William left us and get a two-bedroom apartment.”

 

“No house?”

 

“That’s a definite no with a capital ‘n.’ No home ownership for Buffy. . . not for a very long time. ‘Sides, where go you and Dawn, ergo my home. . . or something like that.”

 

Spike kisses the top of her head, and they lay there quietly for a few more minutes until Buffy wonders, “So I never figured out why the ghost tour stops outside this place.”

 

“Thought you were a researcher of historical establishments.”

 

“Ha ha.”

 

“Truth be told, pet, the place is haunted.”

 

Buffy’s heart skips. “Really? You can tell?”

 

“’Course. Any astute vamp can pick up on these things.” Spike moves one hand behind his head as Buffy lifts onto her elbow. “She’s a young girl, has a cat. She stays upstairs mostly.”

 

“Mostly? What did she see?” Somehow Buffy finds it ironic that she’s worried about a ghost seeing them together.

 

Spike chuckles. “She didn’t see anything, pet, but she is glad to see us again. Glad we found our way back to each other ‘cause see, she and her lover didn’t fare so well. Don’t rightly know what happened though. She’s not that specific.”

 

“Oh, that’s so sad.”

 

Spike runs the back of his fingers over her cheek, and she leans into the touch, her skin tingling all over again. “That was almost us.”

 

“Almost.” She kisses his palm and then hugs him close. “I won’t let it happen again.”

 

“We won’t let it happen again. No more goodbyes.”

 

She agrees, “No more goodbyes. Only hellos.”

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added an epilogue in honor of the 20 year anniversary of BtVS. Written 3-10-17. Hope you enjoy it! heart I need a new challenge, I think...
> 
> This is definitely my love letter to New Orleans, too. I went through so much there...grew up going there and got to live there and went through hurricanes there. The city has so much tied to it emotionally for me.
> 
> The Elysian Fields Avenue is actually a real street that runs parallel to Frenchman Street, which is just out of the Quarter and where all the locals go to hear music, relax, and have fun. There's a whole history to Frenchman if you Google it. When I was researching the epilogue back in 2015, I saw the street name and thought...no way, that's crazy! But the Epilogue refused to write itself.
> 
> Also, the condo my husband and I stayed at was indeed this one. The ghost tour stopped there multiple times a night, and finally, a waitress told us the story of the haunting. You can find it, too. It's a sad love story about a young girl...an octoroon whose plantation owner lover told her that if she truly loved him, she would wait on the roof for him until he was done with his negotiations. He was joking but she took him literally and died in the cold. They found her body around the chimney. She was a teenager, and he was a married plantation owner. Anyway, she is supposed to be a friendly spirit and the people at the art gallery next door have supposedly done some seance type stuff and people have heard a teenaged girl laughing, and she supposedly does have a cat that can be heard on the third floor. This is what the waitress told us. A more accurate story may be on the wikipedia page... https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haunting_of_the_Octoroon_Mistress


End file.
